x:men 


ARE  GHOSTS 


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LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

Sy\N  DIEGO 


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Uheeler  J  Bailem: 


3  1822  01107  3418  i^^/f 


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^}f  the  Same  Jiuthor 


AMONG  THE  IDOLMAKERS 

"They  reveal  such  a  unique  personal  force,  such  a  vigor 
of  thought,  such  a  strong,  assured  hand  in  the  develop- 
ment of  their  ideas,  that  both  their  literary  quality  and 
their  interest  are  quickly  felt  to  be  exceptional." — The 
New  York   Times. 


Umo.     369  pp.     $1.35  net. 


MAD   SHEPHERDS: 

And  Other  Human  Studies 
With  a  ProntispUce  Drarwing  by  Mr.  LESLIE  BROOKE 
"Of  verjr  uncommon  literary  quality  and  interest.  .  .  . 
The  hero  is  a  splendid  creation  or  portrait.  Mr.  Jacks 
can  tell  a  story  well  and  his  humor  is  genuine.  ...  A 
real  book  written  in  English  that  is  rarely  found  now  in 
fiction." — The  Neva   York  Sun. 

Unto.    251  pp.    $1.20  net. 


THE  ALCHEMY  OF  THOUGHT 

"Remarkable  essays.  .  .  .  Certainly  show  the  broaden- 
ing of  the  philosophic  outlook,  and  are  as  fresh  and  reas- 
suring as  anything  that  has  recently  been  put  forth  as  a 
guide  to  a  sane  and  wholesome  view  of  literature  and 
life." — Literary  Digest. 

"The  book  is  one  which  no  philosophical  student  of 
to-day  can  safely  do  without." — The  Westminster  Review. 


%vo.     360  pp.     $3.00  net. 


HENRY     HOLT     AND     COMPANY 

34  We.st  33d  Street  New  York 


ALL    MEN   ARE 
GHOSTS 


BY 

L.  P.  JACKS 

author  of 

'mad  shepherds,"  "among  the  idolmakers/ 

"the  alchemy  of  thought" 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY    HOLT    AND    COMPANY 

LONDON :  WILLIAMS  &  NORGATE 

1913 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcli  ive.org/details/allmenaregliostsOOjackiala 


I  DEDICATE  THIS   VOLUME 
TO 

STOPFORD    BROOKE 

TO  WHOM  I  OWE  MORE  THAN   COULD  BE  TOLD 

WERE  MANY  PAGES  EMPLOYED 

IN  THE  RECITAL 


CONTENTS 


PANHANDLE  AND  THE  GHOSTS :  'age 

I.     PANHANDLE    LAYS    DOWN    A    PRINCIPLE            .              .  1 
II.    PANHANDLE     NARRATES     HIS     HISTORY     AND     DE- 
SCRIBES   THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE        ...  9 
III.    panhandle's      REMARKABLE      ADVENTURE.         THE 

GHOST    APPEARS                .....  38 

THE  MAGIC  FORMULA    .        .         .         .        .  54 
ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS: 

I.    DR    PIECRAFT    BECOMES    CONFUSED        .             .             .  I02 

II.    "  THE    HOLE    IN    THE    WATER-SKIN  "  .             .             .  14O 

III.    DR    PIECRAFT    CLEARS    HIS    MIND            .            .             .  200 

THE  PROFESSOR'S  MARE        ....  208 

FARMER  JEREMY  AND  HIS  WAYS       .         .  279 

WHITE  ROSES 337 


Of  the  stories  in  this  volume,  "Farmer  Jeremy  and 
his  Ways  "  has  already  appeared  in  the  Comhill ; 
"The  Magic  Formula,"  "The  Professor's  Mare," 
and  ^' White  Roses"  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly. 
These  are  reprinted  with  the  permission  of  the 
respective  Editors.  Some  additions  have  been 
made  which  were  precluded  by  the  shorter  form 
of  the  magazine  story. 


"  He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird's  nest 
may  know. 
At  first  sight,  if  the  bird  be  flown ; 
But  what  fair  well  or  grove  he  sings  in  now. 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet,  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 
Call  to  the  soul  while  man  doth  sleep ; 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted 
themes, 
And  into  glory  peep." 

Henry  Vaughan,  1655. 


ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

PANHANDLE  AND  THE 
GHOSTS 


"  *  Oh,'  dissi  lui, '  Or  se'  tu  ancor  morto  ? ' 
Ed  egli  a  me,  *  Come  il  mio  corpo  stea 
Nel  mondo  su,  nulla  scienza  porto.' " 

Dante,  Inferno^  Canto  xxxilL 


"  The  first  principle  to  guide  us  in  the  study 
of  the  subject,"  said  Panhandle,  "is  that  no 
genuine  ghost  ever  recognised  itself  as  what 
you  suppose  it  to  be.  The  conception  which 
the  ghost  has  of  its  own  being  is  fundamen- 
tally different  from  yours.  Because  it  lacks 
solidity  you  deem  it  less  real  than  yourself. 
The  ghost  thinks  the  opposite.  You  imagine 
that  its  language  is  a  squeak.  From  the 
ghost's  point  of  view  the  squeaker  is  yourself. 

In  short,  the  attitude  of  mankind  towards  the 

1 


2  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

realm  of  ghosts  is  regarded  by  them  as  a  con- 
tinual affront  to  the  majesty  of  the  spiritual 
world,  perpetrated  by  beings  who  stand  on 
a  low  level  of  intelligence ;  and  for  that 
reason  they  seldom  appear  or  make  any 
attempt  at  open  communication,  doing  their 
work  in  secret  and  disclosing  their  identity 
only  to  selected  souls.  Far  from  admitting 
that  they  are  less  real  than  you,  they  regard 
themselves  as  possessed  of  reality  vastly  more 
intense  than  yours.  Imagine  what  your  own 
feelings  would  be  if,  at  this  moment,  I  were 
to  treat  you  as  a  gibbering  bogey,  and  you 
will  then  have  some  measure  of  the  contempt 
which  ghosts  entertain  for  human  beings." 

"  You  must  confess,  my  dear  Panhandle," 
I  answered,  "that  you  are  flying  in  the  face 
of  the  greatest  authorities,  and  have  the  whole 
literature  of  the  subject  against  you.  You 
tell  me  that  no  genuine  ghost  ever  recognised 
itself  as  such." 

"  I  mean,  of  course,"  interrupted  Panhandle, 
"  that  it  never  recognised  itself  as  a  ghost  in 
your  inadequate  sense  of  the  term." 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS  3 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  what  do  you  make  of  the 
Ghost's  words  in  Hamlet : 

'  I  am  thy  father's  spirit '  ? 

This  one,  at  all  events,  recognised  itself  as 
such." 

"  In  attributing  those  words  to  the  Ghost," 
said  Panhandle,  "  Shakespeare  was  using 
him  as  a  stage  property  and  as  a  means 
of  playing  to  the  gallery,  which  is  incapable 
of  right  notions  on  this  subject.  But  there 
is  another  passage  in  the  same  group  of  scenes 
which  shows  that  Shakespeare  was  not  wholly 
ignorant  of  the  inner  mind  of  ghosts.  Listen 
to  this: — 

'  Enter  Ghost. 
Horatio.  What  art  thou,  that  usurp'st  this  time  of  night, 
Together  with  that  fair  and  warlike  form 
In  which  the  majesty  of  buried  Denmark 
Did  sometimes  march  ?    By  Heaven  I  charge 
thee,  speak ! 
Marcellus.  It  is  offended. 
Bernardo.  See,  it  stalks  away.''  " 

"  Now,  what  does  that  mean  ? "  he  continued. 
"  The  words  of  Horatio  imply  that  the  Ghost 
has  usurped  a  reaUty  which  does  not  belong 


4  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

to  him  ;  that  he  is  a  wraith,  a  goblin,  or  some 
such  absurdity — that,  in  short,  he  is  going  to 
be  treated  in  the  idiotic  manner  which  is  usual 
with  men  in  the  presence  of  such  apparitions. 
Doubtless  the  Ghost  saw  that  these  men  were 
afraid  of  him,  that  their  hair  was  standing  on 
end  and  their  knees  knocking  together.  Dis- 
gusted at  such  an  exhibition  of  what  to  him 
would  appear  as  a  mixture  of  stupidity  and 
bad  manners,  he  turned  up  his  nose  at  the 
lot  of  them  and  stalked  away  in  wrath.  No 
self-respecting  ghost  would  ever  consent  to  be 
so  treated  ;  and  that  may  help  you  to  under- 
stand why  communications  from  the  world  of 
spirits  are  comparatively  rare.  Ghosts  who 
believe  in  the  existence  of  human  beings 
often  regard  them  as  idiots.  To  communi- 
cate with  such  imbeciles  is  to  court  an  insult, 
or  at  least  to  expose  the  communicating 
spirit  to  an  exhibition  of  revolting  antics  and 
limited  intelligence.  From  their  point  of 
view,  men  are  a  race  of  beings  whose  acquaint- 
ance is  not  worth  cultivating." 

"  Your  words  imply,"  I  said,  "  that  some  of 


PANHANDLE   AND   THE   GHOSTS         5 

the  ghosts   do   not  believe  in  our  existence 
at  all." 

"The  majority  are  of  that  mind,"  he 
answered.  "  Belief  in  the  existence  of  beings 
like  yourself  is  regarded  among  them  as 
betokening  a  want  of  mental  balance.  A 
ghost  who  should  venture  to  assert  that  you, 
for  example,  were  real  would  certainly  risk 
his  reputation,  and  if  he  held  a  scientific 
professorship  or  an  ecclesiastical  appointment 
he  would  be  sneered  at  by  his  juniors  and 
made  the  victim  of  some  persecution.  I  may 
tell  you  incidentally  that  the  ghosts  have 
among  them  a  Psychical  Research  Society 
which  has  been  occupied  for  many  years  in 
investigating  the  reality  of  the  inhabitants  of 
this  planet.  By  the  vast  majority  of  ghosts 
the  proceedings  of  the  Society  are  viewed 
with  indifference,  and  the  claim,  which  is 
occasionally  made,  that  communication  has 
been  established  with  the  beings  whom  we 
know  as  men  is  treated  with  contempt.  The 
critics  point  to  the  extreme  triviality  of  the 
alleged     communications    from    this     world. 


6  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

They  say  that  nothing  of  the  least  import- 
ance has  ever  come  through  from  the  human 
side,  and  are  wont  to  make  merry  over  the 
imbecility  and  disjointed  nonsense  of  the 
messages  reported  by  the  mediums ;  for  you 
must  understand  that  there  are  mediums  on 
that  side  as  well  as  on  this.  I  happen  to 
know  of  two  instances.  Some  time  ago  two 
questions,  purporting  to  come  from  this  world, 
reached  the  ghosts.  One  was,  '  What  will  be 
the  price  of  Midland  Preferred  on  January  1, 
1915?'  The  other,  *  Will  it  be  a  boy  or  a 
girl  ? '  For  months  a  committee  of  ghostly 
experts  has  been  investigating  these  com- 
munications, the  meaning  of  which  proved  at 
first  sight  utterly  unintelligible  in  that  world. 
The  matter  is  still  undecided ;  but  the  con- 
clusion most  favoured  at  the  moment  is  that 
the  messages  are  garbled  quotations  from  an 
eminent  poet  among  the  ghosts.  Meanwhile 
more  than  one  great  reputation  has  been 
sacrificed  and  the  sceptics  are  jubilant." 

*'  As   you   speak,  Panhandle,"    I  said,    "  it 
suddenly  occurs  to  me,  with  a  kind  of  shock, 


PANHANDLE   AND   THE   GHOSTS         7 

that  at  this  moment  these  beings  may  be 
investigating  the  reality  of  my  own  existence. 
It  would  be  interesting  if  I  could  find  out 
what  they  suppose  me  to  be." 

"  I  doubt  if  the  knowledge  would  flatter 
you,"  he  answered.  "It  is  highly  probable 
that  you  would  hear  yourself  interpreted  in 
lower  terms  than  even  the  most  malicious  of 
your  enemies  could  invent.  A  friend  of  mine, 
who  is  a  Doctor  of  Science,  and  extremely 
scornful  as  to  the  existence  of  spirits,  is  actually 
undergoing  that  investigation  by  the  ghosts 
the  results  of  which,  if  applied  to  yourself,  you 
would  find  so  interesting.  Some  assert  that 
he  is  a  low  form  of  mental  energy  which  has 
managed  to  get  astray  in  the  universe.  Others 
declare  that  he  is  a  putrid  emanation  from 
some  kind  of  matter  which  science  has  not  yet 
identified,  without  consciousness,  but  by  no 
means  without  odour.  They  allege  that  they 
have  walked  through  him." 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  I  suddenly 
remembered  a  question  which  I  had  several 
times  had  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  ask. 


8  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"Panhandle,"  I  said,  "you  seem  to  be  on 
a  familiar  footing  with  the  ghosts.  How  did 
you  acquire  it  ?  " 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  he  replied,  "the  answer 
to  that  is  a  long  story.  Come  down  to  my 
house  in  the  country,  stay  a  fortnight,  and  I 
promise  to  give  you  abundant  material  for 
your  next  book." 


II 

PANHANDLE    NARRATES   HIS   HISTORY 
AND  DESCRIBES  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE 

Panhandle's  residence  was  situated  in  a 
remote  part  of  the  country,  and  at  this 
moment  I  have  no  clear  recollection  of  the 
complicated  journey,  with  its  many  changes  at 
little-known  junctions,  which  I  had  to  make 
in  order  to  find  my  friend. 

The  residence  stood  in  the  midst  of  elevated 
woodlands,  and  was  well  hidden  by  the  trees. 
An  immense  sky-sign,  standing  out  high  above 
all  other  objects  and  plainly  visible  to  the 
traveller  from  whatever  side  he  made  his 
approach,  had  been  erected  on  the  roof.  The 
sky-sign  carried  the  legend  "  No  Psycho- 
logists ! "  It  turned  with  the  wind,  gyrating 
continually,  and  when  darkness  fell  the  letters 
were  outlined  in  electric  lamps.  Only  a  bUnd 
man  could  miss  the  warning. 


10  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

This  legend  was  repeated  over  the  main 
entrance  to  the  grounds,  with  the  addition  of 
the  word  "Beware!"  I  thought  of  man- 
traps and  ferocious  dogs,  and  for  some 
minutes  I  stood  before  the  gates,  wonder- 
ing if  it  would  be  safe  for  me  to  enter. 
At  last,  remembering  how  several  friends 
had  assured  me  that  I  was  "no  psycho- 
logist," I  concluded  that  little  harm  awaited 
me,  plucked  up  my  courage,  and  boldly 
advanced. 

Beyond  the  gates  I  found  the  warning 
again  repeated  with  a  more  emphatic  trucu- 
lence  and  a  finer  particularity.  At  intervals 
along  the  drive  I  saw  notice-boards  projecting 
from  the  barberries  and  the  laurels,  each  with 
some  new  version  of  the  original  theme. 
"  Death  to  the  Psychology  of  Religion  "  were 
the  words  inscribed  on  one.  The  next  was 
even  more  precise  in  its  application,  and  ran 
as  follows: — 

"  Inquisitive  psychologists  take  notice ! 

Panhandle  has  a  gun. 

And  will  not  hesitate  to  shoot, "^ 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        11 

Somewhat  shaken  I  approached  the  front 
door  and  was  startled  to  see  a  long,  glitter- 
ing thing  suddenly  thrust  through  an  open 
window  in  the  upper  storey;  and  the  man 
behind  the  weapon  was  unquestionably  Pan- 
handle himself.  "  Can  it  be,"  I  said  aloud, 
"that  Panhandle  has  taken  me  for  an 
inquisitive  psychologist  ? " 

"  Advance,"  cried  my  host,  who  had  a  keen 
ear  for  such  undertones.  "  Advance  and  fear 
nothing."  A  moment  later  he  grasped  me 
warmly  by  the  hand,  "Welcome,  dearest  of 
friends,"  he  was  saying.  "  You  have  arrived 
at  an  opportune  moment.  The  house  is  full 
of  guests  who  are  longing  to  meet  you." 

"  But,  Panhandle,"  1  expostulated  as  we 
stood  on  the  doorstep,  "  I  understood  we  were 
to  be  alone.  I  have  come  for  one  purpose 
only,  that  you  might  explain  your  familiarity 
with — with  those  peopled" 

I  used  this  expression,  rather  than  one 
more  explicit,  because  the  footman  was  still 
present,  knowing  from  long  experience  how 
dangerous     it    is    to     speak     plainly    about 


1«  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

metaphysical  realities  in  the  hearing  of  the 
proletariat. 

"  Those  very  people  are  now  awaiting  you," 
said  Panhandle,  as  he  drew  me  into  the  library. 
"  1  will  be  quite  frank  with  you  at  once.  This 
house  is  haunted ;  and  if  on  consideration  you 
find  your  nerves  unequal  to  an  encounter  with 
ghosts,  you  had  better  go  back  at  once,  for 
there  is  no  telling  how  soon  the  apparitions 
will  begin." 

"  I  have  been  longing  to  see  a  ghost  all  my 
life,"  I  answered ;  "  and  now  that  the  chance 
has  come  at  last,  I  am  not  going  to  run  away 
from  it.  But  I  confess  that  with  the  encounter 
so  near  at  hand  my  knees  are  not  as  steady  as 
I  could  wish." 

"  A  turn  in  the  open  air  will  set  that  right," 
said  he,  "  and  we  will  take  it  at  once ;  for  I 
perceive  an  indication  that  the  first  ghost  has 
already  entered  the  room  and  is  only  waiting 
for  your  nerves  to  calm  before  presenting  him- 
self to  your  vision." 

I  bolted  into  the  garden,  and  Panhandle, 
with  an  irritating  smile  at  the  corners  of  his 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        13 

mouth,  followed.  As  we  walked  among  the 
lawns  and  shrubberies  we  both  fell  silent :  he, 
for  a  reason  unknown  to  me  ;  I,  because  some- 
thing in  his  plan  of  gardening  had  absorbed 
my  attention  and  filled  me  with  wonder. 
Presently  I  said,  "  Panhandle,  I  cannot  refrain 
from  asking  you  a  question.  I  observe  that 
in  your  style  of  gardening  you  have  embodied 
an  idea  which  I  have  long  cherished  but  never 
dared  to  carry  out  lest  people  should  think  me 
morbid.  You  have  planted  cypress  at  the  back 
of  your  roses  ;  and  the  plan  is  so  unusual  and 
yet  so  entirely  in  accord  with  my  own  mind 
on  the  subject  that  1  suspect  telepathy  between 
you  and  me." 

He  looked  at  me  closely  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  said : 

"  It  may  be.  I  too  have  often  suspected 
that  throughout  the  whole  of  my  garden- 
ing operations  I  was  under  the  control  of 
an  intelligence  other  than  my  own.  But 
1  would  never  have  guessed  that  it  was 
yours.  Anyhow,  this  particular  idea,  no 
matter  what  its  origin  may  be,  is  admirable. 


14  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

No  other  background  will  compare  with 
the  cypress  for  bringing  out  the  colour  of 
the  roses.  See  how  gorgeous  they  look  at 
this  moment." 

"  And  the  cypress  too,"  I  said,  "  are,  thanks 
to  the  contrast,  full  of  majesty.  But,  though 
you  and  I  understand  one  another  so  com- 
pletely at  this  point,  there  is  another  at 
which  I  confess  you  bewilder  me."  And  I 
indicated  the  sky-sign,  which  at  that  moment 
had  turned  its  legend — "No  Psychologists" — 
full  towards  us. 

"You  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn," 
he  answered,  "that  this  house,  like  other 
haunted  houses,  has  been  the  scene  of  a 
tragedy.  The  tragedy  is  the  explanation 
of  the  sign,  and  it  is  essential  you  should 
know  the  story,  as  the  ghosts  are  certain 
to  refer  to  it.  You  remember  that  I  once 
had  a  religion?" 

"  I  trust  you  have  one  still,"  I  said. 

"I  prefer  to  be  silent  on  that  point," 
he  answered.  "  Whatever  religion  I  may 
have   at  the  present  moment  I  am  resolved 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        15 

to  protect  from  the  disasters  which  befell  the 
religion  I  had  long  ago.     A  certain   psycho- 
logist got  wind  of  it,  and  I,  in  my  innocence, 
granted  his   request  to   submit   my  religious 
consciousness  to  a  scientific  investigation.     I 
was  highly  flattered  by  the  result.     The  man, 
having  completed  his  investigation,  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  my  rehgion  was  destined 
to  be  the  religion  of  the  future,  and  went  up 
and  down  the  country  announcing  his  prophecy. 
But  the  strange  thing  was  that  as  soon  as  we 
all  knew  that  this  was  going  to  be  the  religion 
of  the   future    it   ceased  to   be  the  religion 
of  the  present.     What   followed  ?     Why,  in 
a   couple  of  years  1    and   my  followers   had 
no   religion   at   all.      Incidentally   our   minds 
had  become  a  mass  of  self-complacency  and 
conceit,  and  the  public  were  coming  to  regard 
us  as  a  set  of  intolerable  wind-bags.     Such  was 
the  tragedy,  and  ever  since  its  occurrence   I 
have  led  a  haunted  life." 

"There  may  be  compensations  in  that,"  I 
suggested. 

"  There   are,  and   I  am  resolved  to  main- 


16  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

tain  them.  This  house  and  these  grounds 
are  kept  as  a  strict  preserve  for  spirits  of 
every  denomination ;  and  you  will  under- 
stand the  severity  of  my  measures  for  their 
protection  when  I  tell  you  that  the  slightest 
taint  of  an  earth-born  psychology  in  the 
atmosphere,  or  the  footprint  of  one  of 
its  exponents  on  the  greensward,  would  in- 
stantly cause  a  general  exodus  of  my  ghostly 
visitors,  and  thus  deprive  me  of  the  com- 
pany which  is  at  once  the  solace  and  the 
inspiration  of  my  declining  years.  On 
all  such  intrusions  I  decree  the  penalty  of 
death,  being  fully  determined  that  no  psycho- 
logy shall  pollute  this  neighbourhood  until 
such  time  as  the  ghosts,  having  completed  a 
psychology  of  their  own,  are  able  to  protect 
themselves.  I  assure  you  that  my  intercourse 
with  the  spirits  more  than  makes  amends  for 
all  that  I  lost  when  my  former  rehgion  was 
destroyed." 

"  Which  never  became  the  religion  of  the 
future  after  aU  ? "  I  asked,  more  sarcastically 
perhaps  than  was  quite  decent. 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        17 

"Of  course  not.  And  the  same  cause,  if 
suffered  to  operate,  will  prevent  anything  else 
from  becoming  the  religion  of  the  future.  It 
is  one  of  the  signs  of  decadence  in  the  present 
age  that  livelihoods  should  be  procurable  by 
the  scientific  analysis  of  religion.  Had  I  the 
power,  I  would  make  it  a  penal  offence  to 
publish  the  results  of  such  inquiries.  As  it  is, 
we  must  protect  ourselves.  Arm,  therefore, 
my  friend — arm  yourself  with  the  like  of  this  ; 
and  whenever  you  see  one  of  those  marauders, 
do  not  hesitate  to  shoot !  The  only  good 
psychologist  is  a  dead  one." 

As  Panhandle  said  this,  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  quite  the  most  formidable  six-shooting 
pistol  I  have  ever  seen. 

1  was  about  to  protest  against  the  atrocious 
obscurantism  of  this  outburst,  when  my 
attention  was  caught  by  a  strange  sound 
of  fluttering  in  the  letters  of  the  sky-sign 
above  the  house.  Looking  up,  I  saw  to 
my  amazement  that  the  former  legend  had 
disappeared  and  a  new  one  was  gradually 
forming.      "  Change   the   conversation"   were 


18  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

the  words  I  read  when  the  swaying  letters 
had  settled  down  into  a  position  of  rest. 
Immediately  afterwards  the  letters  fluttered 
again  and  the  original  legend  reappeared. 
"  Certainly,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  this  house 
is  haunted." 

Obedient  to  the  mandate  of  the  fluttering 
letters,  I  began  at  once  to  cast  about  for 
an  opening  that  would  change  the  conversa- 
tion. I  could  find  none,  and  I  was  em- 
barrassed by  the  pause.  There  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  break  out  suddenly  on  a 
new  line.  But  in  the  sequel  I  was  aston- 
ished to  observe  with  what  ease  Panhandle, 
in  spite  of  the  violence  of  the  transition, 
turned  the  conversation  back  to  its  original 
theme. 

"  My  dear  Panhandle,"  I  said,  "  you  are 
doubtless  familiar  with  the  remark  of  Charles 
Dickens  to  the  effect  that  writers  of  fiction 
seldom  dream  of  the  characters  they  have 
created,  the  reason  being  that  they  know  those 
characters  to  be  unreal." 

'*  I  am  perfectly  familiar  with  the  passage," 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        19 

he  replied,  "  but  I  am  astonished  to  hear  it 
quoted  by  you.  Have  you  not  often  in- 
sisted, in  pursuance,  I  suppose,  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  your  philosophy,  that  characters 
created  by  imaginative  genius,  such  as  Ham- 
let or  Faust,  possess  a  deeper  reality  than 
beings  of  flesh  and  blood  ?  Did  you  not 
cite  instances  from  Dickens  himself  and 
say  that  Sam  Weller  and  Mr  Micawber 
were  more  real  to  you  than  Louis  XIV  or 
George  Washington?" 

"  I  certainly  said  so,  and  adhere  to  the 
statement." 

**  Then  you  will  not  hesitate  to  admit  that 
a  character  who  is  more  real  than  George 
Washington  is  at  least  as  capable  of  being 
interested  in  the  problem  of  his  own  creation 
as  Georg6  Washington  could  have  been." 

"You  are  leading  me  into  a  trap,"  I 
replied. 

"  I  am  only  requiring  you  to  be  in  earnest. 
Like  many  persons  who  express  the  opinion 
you  have  just  reiterated,  you  have  never 
taken  the  trouble  to  realise  what  it  implies. 


20  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

But  I  will  now  show  you  its  implications. 
Nor  could  a  better  means  be  found  of  in- 
troducing the  revelations  I  am  about  to 
make  as  to  what  you  may  expect  in  this 
haunted  house.  It  was  your  good  genius 
who  led  you  to  this  topic.  You  will  learn 
presently  that  the  phenomena  peculiar  to 
my  house  are  entirely  in  harmony  with 
your  own  philosophy  on  this  point,  that 
philosophy  being,  as  I  understand,  some 
new  brand  of  Idealism." 

"  I  desire  you  to  proceed  with  the  revela- 
tions immediately,"  I  said.  "  We  live  in  an 
age  which  abhors  introductions  as  fiercely  as 
Nature  abhors  a  vacuum,  and  I  beg  you  to 
leave  it  with  me  to  adjust  what  you  are 
about  to  deliver  to  the  principles  of  my 
philosophy." 

"  Know,  then,"  said  Panhandle,  with  a 
readiness  that  marked  his  approval  of  my 
attitude,  "  that  your  opinion  as  to  the  reality 
of  these  imaginary  characters  is  entirely  sound. 
Many  of  them  are  in  the  habit  of  haunting 
this   very   house,   and   I   think  it  extremely 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS       21 

probable  that  some  will  put  in  an  appearance 
to-night.  You  have  quoted  Charles  Dickens 
to  the  effect  that  their  creators  know  them 
to  be  unreal  —  a  remarkable  error  for  so 
gifted  a  man.  But  it  may  astonish  you 
to  learn  that  they  return  the  compliment 
by  having  no  belief  in  the  reality  of  their 
reputed  creators.  It  is  more  than  possible, 
after  what  you  have  said,  that  Mr  Micawber, 
who  has  now  become  a  philosopher,  will 
appear  to  you  during  your  stay  in  the 
house.  Tell  him  by  way  of  experiment  that 
his  creator  was  a  certain  Charles  Dickens. 
You  will  find  that  he  wholly  fails  to  under- 
stand what  you  mean.  He  regards  himself 
as  a  fortuitous  concourse  of  ideas.  Only 
this  morning  I  tried  the  same  experiment 
on  Colonel  Newcome.  I  told  him  all  about 
Thackeray,  who,  said  I,  was  the  author  of  his 
being.^     He  was  utterly  amazed,  and  just  as 

1  '*  In  the  novel  of  Pendennis,  written  ten  years  ago, 
there  is  an  account  of  a  certain  Costigan,  whom  I  had 
invented.  ...  I  was  smoking  in  a  tavern-parlour  one 
night,  and  this  Costigan  came  into  the  room  alone — the 
very  man  :  the  most  remarkable  resemblance  of  the  printed 


9St  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

incredulous  as  it  is  possible  for  so  perfect  a 
gentleman  to  be.  He  accused  me  of  talking 
metaphysics." 

My  long  acquaintance  with  Panhandle  had 
schooled  me  to  betray  no  astonishment  at 
anything  he  might  say.  So,  assuming  as 
cool  an  air  as  I  could  command,  I  merely 
asked : 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me.  Panhandle, 
by  what  means  you  have  managed  to  ascer- 
tain the  views  of  these  gentlemen  concerning 
their  creator  ? " 

"  Like  yourself,"  he  answered,  "  I  was 
convinced  long  ago  that  the  creations  of 
genius,    Hamlet     and     the    rest,    are     more 

sketches  of  the  man^  and  of  the  rude  drawings  in  which  I 
had  depicted  him.  He  had  the  same  little  coat,  the  same 
battered  hat,  cocked  on  one  eye,  the  same  twinkle  in  that 
eye.  '  Sir,'  said  I,  knowing  him  to  be  an  old  friend  whom 
I  had  met  in  unknown  regions,  '  sir,'  I  said,  '  may  I  offer 
you  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water  ? '  .  .  .  How  had  I  come 
to  know  him,  to  divine  him  ?  Nothing  shall  convince  me 
that  I  have  not  seen  that  man  in  the  world  of  spirits." 
(Thackeray,  De  Finibus.)  See  the  whole  passage,  from 
which  it  is  evident  that  Costigan  did  not  recognise  his 
creator. 


PANHANDLE   AND   THE   GHOSTS        23 

real  than  the  Johns,  Toms,  and  Marys  who 
seem  to  walk  the  earth.  But,  unlike  you, 
I  have  not  been  content  that  so  important 
a  truth  should  remain  at  the  level  of  a  mere 
elegant  opinion.  By  a  course  of  spiritual 
exercises  carefully  devised,  into  which  I  shall 
presently  initiate  you,  I  have  placed  my- 
self in  direct  communication  with  these 
personalities ;  and  so  successful  has  the  dis- 
cipline proved,  that  intelligent  intercourse 
has  become  possible  between  them  and  me. 
I  frequently  invite  them  to  haunt  the  house, 
and  the  response  is  always  favourable.  I 
am  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  principal 
characters  of  the  Classic  Drama,  of  Shake- 
speare, Goethe,  and  many  eminent  novelists 
of  modern  times." 

On  hearing  this  all  my  efforts  to  keep  cool 
broke  down. 

"  Panhandle,"  I  cried, "  you  must  initiate 
me  into  those  exercises  without  a  moment's 
delay." 

"  Be  patient,"  he  replied,  "  until  you  have 
heard  the  further  results  to  which  they  will 


24  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

lead.  I  have  not  yet  told  you  the  half,  and 
it  may  be  that  when  you  have  heard  the  rest 
you  will  prefer  to  have  no  part  in  these 
Mysteries.  The  realm  to  which  they  will 
lead  you  has  an  immense  population  of  ghosts ; 
it  is  vastly  more  populous  than  our  planet; 
and  notwithstanding  that  my  exercises  have 
brought  me  abundant  knowledge  of  them  and 
their  doings,  I  have  not  been  able  to  classify 
more  than  a  small  portion  of  the  inhabitants. 
The  characters  created  by  imaginative  genius 
are  only  one  among  the  orders  of  ghosts  to 
whom  you  will  presently  be  introduced.  You 
will  be  haunted  by  Ideas  in  every  variety,  all 
of  them  living  organisms  of  high  complexity, 
and  all  more  or  less  ignorant  of  whence  they 
come  or  whose  they  are.  Possibly  you  will 
encounter  your  own  ideas  among  them  ;  and  I 
must  warn  you  against  claiming  to  be  the 
author  of  any  of  them,  even  the  most  original. 
There  is  nothing  that  offends  them  more 
deeply.  They  have  their  own  notions  as  to 
their  origin,  which  they  conceive  to  lie  in 
something  infinitely  superior  to  the  brain  of  a 


PANHANDLE   AND   THE   GHOSTS        25 

being  like  yourself.  By  many  of  them  their 
reputed  authors  are  treated  with  contempt ; 
some  deny  the  existence  of  these  'authors' 
in  any  capacity  whatsoever ;  others  regard 
them  as  mere  phrases,  metaphors,  or  abstrac- 
tions. A  notable  instance  is  that  of  your 
friend  Professor  Gunn,  who  wrote  the  famous 
treatise  to  prove  the  non-existence  of  God. 
The  potent  ideas  projected  in  the  course  of 
that  work  had  long  enjoyed  an  independent 
being  of  their  own  in  the  spiritual  world  ;  and 
it  may  interest  you — and  Professor  Gunn  also, 
if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  tell  him  what 
I  am  now  saying — to  learn  that  these  ideas 
of  his  have  formed  themselves  into  a  congre- 
gation or  society  whose  principal  tenet  is  that 
there  is  no  such  being  as  Professor  Gunn. 
They  regard  him  alternatively  as  a  sun-myth 
or  an  exploded  fiction." 

"  How  absurd  ! "  I  cried. 

"  In  your  present  darkness,"  he  answered, 
"the  exclamation  is  to  be  excused.  But  1 
assure  you  that  after  passing  one  night  in  this 
bouse  you  will  find  that  nothing  in"  heaven  or 


26  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

earth  is  less  absurd  than  the  statement  you 
have  just  heard." 

"  As  to  your  own  Ideas,"  he  continued, 
"know  that  their  relation  to  yourself  is,  in 
their  eyes,  widely  different  from  what  you 
conceive  it  to  be.  Between  yourself  and  them 
there  is  the  utmost  divergence  of  view  on  this 
matter.  Under  no  circumstances  whatsoever 
Avill  they  consent  to  regard  themselves  as  your 
property,  and  no  claim  of  that  kind,  nor  even 
the  semblance  of  a  claim,  must  ever  be  suffered 
to  appear  in  your  dealings  with  these  ghosts. 
Remember  that  your  common-sense  is  their 
metaphysic,  and  their  metaphysic  your  com- 
mon-sense ;  what  you  dream  of,  they  see ; 
what  you  see,  they  dream  of;  and  the  conse- 
quence is  that  many  truths,  which  appear  to 
you  as  the  least  certain  of  your  conclusions, 
are  used  by  them  as  the  familiar  axioms  of 
thought.  On  the  other  hand,  what  are  axioms 
to  you  are  often  problems  to  them.  Your 
cogito  ergo  sum,  for  example,  will  not  go 
down  in  the  spiritual  world.  For  just  as  you, 
on   your  side   of  the    theory   of  knowledge, 


PANHANDLE   AND   THE   GHOSTS        27 

are  busy  in  trying  to  account  for  your  Ideas, 
so  they,  on  theirs,  have  much  ado  in  their 
efforts  to  account  for  you ;  all  of  them  find 
you  the  most  illusive  of  beings,  while  some, 
as  1  have  already  hinted,  deny  your  existence 
altogether,  or  treat  you  as  a  highly  question- 
able hypothesis.  With  several  of  your  leading 
Ideas  I  hope  to  make  you  personally  acquainted 
this  very  night.  To  convince  them  of  your 
identity  will  be  no  easy  matter,  and  the  most 
vigilant  circumspection  will  be  necessary  on 
your  part.  I  counsel  an  attitude  of  uttermost 
modesty  ;  anything  else  is  certain  to  give  them 
the  impression  that  you  are  an  impostor. 
Betray,  then,  not  the  least  surprise  on  finding 
yourself  treated  by  your  own  Ideas  as  a  being 
of  little  importance  to  their  concerns.  Above 
all,  you  must  not  expect  them  to  take  more 
than  a  passing  interest  in  your  brain.  Your 
best  course  is  to  avoid  all  reference  to  that 
topic.  '  The  brain '  is  seldom,  if  ever,  men- 
tioned in  the  best  circles  of  the  spiritual  world 
— to  which  circles,  I  assume,  your  leading 
Ideas  belong.     You  must  never  forget  that  in 


t8  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

the  realm  of  Ideas  class  distinctions  are  rigidly 
observed ;  there  is  an  aristocracy  and  a  prole- 
tariat, with  all  the  intermediate  grades ;  and 
many  topics  which  may  be  safely  mentioned 
among  the  commons  are  an  oifence  when  in- 
troduced to  the  nobility.  '  The  brain '  is  one 
of  these.  Its  use,  among  the  ghosts,  is  con- 
fined exclusively  to  the  working  class ;  and 
you  will  commit  a  breach  of  good  manners 
by  flaunting  its  functions  in  the  presence  of 
august  society.  Were  you,  for  example, 
in  the  course  of  some  conversation  with  a 
noble  Principle,  to  offer  him  the  use  of  your 
own  brain,  or  to  suggest  that  he  was  in 
need  of  such  an  implement,  or  in  the  habit 
of  using  it,  you  would  commit  an  indiscre- 
tion of  the  first  magnitude ;  and  it  is  certain 
the  offended  spirit  would  strike  you  off"  his 
visiting  list  and  decline  to  haunt  you  any 
more.  Pardon  my  insistence  on  this  point. 
Knowing,  as  I  do,  how  apt  you  are  to  talk 
about  your  brain,  I  am  naturally  appre- 
hensive lest,  in  an  unguarded  moment,  you 
should  thrust  that  organ  under  the  nose  of 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE  GHOSTS       29 

some  Great  Idea.  Believe  me,  it  would  be 
a  fatal  mistake.  Remember,  I  implore  you, 
what  I  have  already  said  :  that,  in  the  spiritual 
world,  the  brain-habit  is  strictly  confined  to 
the  working  class."  ^ 

"  Before  you  can  persuade  me  of  all  this,"  I 
said,  "you  will  have  to  turn  my  intelligence 
clean  inside  out." 

*'  That  is  precisely  what  1  intend  doing,  and 
the  first  step  shall  be  taken  this  very  instant. 
Begin  the  exercises  by  repeating  the  Formula 
of  Initiation.     It  runs  as  follows : 

'  Till  another  speaks  to  me  I  am  nothing.'' " 

"  Why,  Panhandle,"  I  said  laughing,  "  that 
is  the  very  formula  they  taught  me  when  I 

^  "  Ni  pour  le  jugement,  ni  pour  le  raisonnement,  ni 
pour  aucune  autre  faculte  de  la  pensee  proprement  dite 
nous  n'avons  la  moindre  raison  de  supposer  qu'elle  soit 
attachee  k  tels  ou  tels  processus  cerebraux  determines.  .  .  . 
Les  phenomenes  cerebraux  sont  en  effet  a  la  vie  mentale 
ce  que  les  gestes  du  chef  d'orchestre  sont  a  la  symphonic : 
ils  en  dessinent  les  articulations  motrices,  ils  ne  font  pas 
autre  chose.  On  ne  trouverait  done  rien  des  operations 
de  I'esprit  proprement  dit  a  I'interieur  du  cerveau."  (Pro- 
fessor Henri  Bergson :  Presidential  Address  to  the  Society 
for  Psychical  Research,  1913.) 


30  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

first  entered  a  Public  School.  And  they  en- 
forced it  with  kicks." 

"The  Universe  enforces  it  in  the  same 
manner.  But  let  us  keep  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
Repeat  the  formula  at  once." 

"Wait,"  I  said.  "The  situation  is  grow- 
ing ominous,  and  I  will  not  embark  upon 
this  enterprise  till  I  know  more  of  what  it 
will  lead  to." 

"Take  your  own  time,"  said  Panhandle. 
"  The  rules  of  my  system  forbid  me  to  hurry 
the  neophyte.  If  what  I  have  told  you 
already  is  not  enough,  you  shall  hear  more. 
Among  the  ghosts  who  haunt  this  house  are 
beings  far  mightier  than  any  I  have  so  far 
described.  For  a  long  time  their  identification 
baffled  me,  until  one  night  I  overheard  them 
in  high  debate,  and  found  they  were  occupied 
in  an  attempt  to  account  for  their  own  exist- 
ence in  the  scheme  of  things.  Then  I  knew 
who  they  were." 

"These,"  I  said,  catching  him  up,  "must 
assuredly  be  the  ghosts  of  the  great  philo- 
sophies, or  systems  of  thought,  which  in  their 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        31 

earthly  state  accounted  for  the  existence  of 
everything  else,  but  left  the  problem  of  their 
own  existence  untouched." 

"  A  most  happy  anticipation,  and  one  that 
augurs  well  for  your  future  success  as  an 
entertainer  of  ghosts.  Have  we  not  heard  on 
high  authority  that  no  philosophy  is  complete 
until  it  has  explained  its  own  presence  in  the 
universe  ?  Having  neglected  this  at  the  first 
stage  of  their  existence,  the  systems  exercise 
their  wits  at  the  second  in  attempts  to  make 
good  the  oversight." 

"  Do  many  of  them  succeed  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Most  of  them  fail ;  and  for  that  reason 
their  ghosts  linger  for  ages  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  houses  which,  like  my  own,  are  hos- 
pitable to  their  presence.  For  it  is  a  rule  of  the 
realm  to  which  they  now  belong  that  so  soon 
as  any  system  succeeds  in  explaining  its  own 
origin  it  vanishes  and  passes  on  to  a  still  higher 
state  of  existence." 

*'  Panhandle,"  I  said,  "  you  have  identified 
these  ghosts  beyond  the  possibility  of  cavil. 
A  more  conclusive  proof  could  not  be  given." 


8«  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"  Beware,  then,  how  you  proceed  ! "  said  he. 
"  It  is  possible  that  you  will  be  haunted 
to-night  not  only  by  your  Ideas  in  their 
severalty,  but  by  your  whole  system  of 
thought  organised  as  one  Synthetic  Ghost.  It 
will  certainly  question  you  on  the  subject  of  its 
creator,  that  being,  as  I  have  said,  the  central 
and  absorbing  interest  of  all  these  spirits.  But 
again  let  me  implore  you  to  be  on  your  guard 
against  claiming  to  be  its  author.  To  inform 
such  a  ghost  that  it  originates  in  a  human 
intelligence,  and  that  intelligence  your  own, 
would  be  treated  as  an  outbreak  of  impudence 
deserving  the  highest  resentment,  and  it  is 
more  than  likely  that  the  indignant  phantom 
would  put  a  lasting  blight  on  your  intellect  or 
punish  your  presumption  in  ways  yet  more 
fearful  to  contemplate." 

The  flow  of  Panhandle's  speech  had  now 
become  extremely  rapid,  and  my  intelligence 
was  beginning  to  lag  in  the  rear.  "  Give  me 
a  breathing-space,"  I  cried  ;  "  I  need  an  interval 
for  silent  meditation."  Then,  in  a  voice  so 
low  that  he  could  not  hear  me,  I  repeated  to 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS       33 

myself  the  Formula  of  Initiation  and,  after 
musing  for  a  few  minutes,  begged  him  to 
proceed.  "  A  light  is  breaking,"  I  said,  "  and 
your  warnings  are  taking  hold." 

"  In  this  connection,"  he  resumed,  "  I 
could  relate  many  things  that  would  surprise 
you.  Just  as  the  personalities  created  by 
genius  are  apt  to  repudiate  their  creators,  so 
the  great  philosophies  when  translated  to  the 
higher  state  are  apt  to  disown  all  connec- 
tion with  the  persons  to  whom  their  origin 
is  humanly  attributed.  The  philosophy  of 
Spencer,  for  example,  believes  its  author  to 
be  absolutely  inscrutable ;  that  of  von  Hart- 
mann  suspects  a  Professor,  but  declares  him 
to  have  been  unconscious  of  what  he  was 
doing.  Pessimism,  again,  ascribes  its  begin- 
ning to  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  Primal 
Power  to  give  away  the  secret  of  its  con- 
spiracies against  its  own  subjects ;  the  doctrine 
that  mind  is  mechanism  believes  itself  the  out- 
come of  a  non-mechanical  principle,  and  has 
become  in  consequence  the  most  superstitious 
of  all  the  ghosts  ;  and  a  group  of  materialistic 


S4  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

systems  have  concluded,  after  long  debate, 
that  all  philosophies  originate  from  Ink  and  a 
Tendency  in  the  Ink  to  get  itself  transferred 
to  Paper." 

"  It  is  evident,"  I  interposed,  "  that  even  in 
their  higher  existence  the  systems  are  by  no 
means  free  from  illusions." 

"  Be  cautious  how  you  judge  them,"  said 
Panhandle,  "  for  it  may  be  that  in  accounting 
for  their  origin  they  are  less  astray  than 
yourself  None  the  less,  you  are  right  in 
declaring  them  defective.  Fallacies  per- 
petrated in  a  system  at  the  first  stage  of  its 
existence  become  diseases  when  translated  to 
the  second,  and  some  of  the  ghosts  in  con- 
sequence live  the  life  of  invalids.  The  ghost 
of  Evolution,  for  example,  will  appear  before 
you  in  a  deplorable  condition.  This  ghost 
has  recently  learnt  that  it  is  suffering  from 
an  Undistributed  Middle,  a  disease  unamenable 
to  treatment,  being  proof  even  against  the 
Method  of  Eloquence,  which  as  you  know  is 
a  potent  specific  for  most  logical  defects.  You 
may  easily  identify  the  spirit  by  remembering 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        35 

what  1  have  told  you.  If  you  encounter  an 
apparition  walking  about  with  hands  pressed 
hard  on  its  Middle,  and  groaning  heavily, 
know  that  the  spectre  of  Evolution  is  before 
you." 

"  Panhandle,"  I  said,  "  your  revelations 
have  awakened  my  uttermost  curiosity,  and 
every  nerve  in  my  body  is  tense  with  eagerness 
to  encounter  an  apparition.  Heaven  grant 
that  the  ghost  of  my  own  philosophy  may 
appear  I  And  yet,  in  a  sense,  I  am  dis- 
appointed. You  promised  that  you  would 
furnish  me  with  material  for  my  next  book. 
But  the  public  has  no  interest  in  the  phantoms 
you  have  described,  and  will  not  beheve  in 
their  existence." 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  he  answered. 
"  Meanwhile,  I  give  you  my  solemn  pledge 
that  you  shall  see  a  ghost  before  the  night 
is  out." 

He  said  this  in  a  tone  so  ominous  that  I 
could  not  refrain  from  starting.  What  could 
he  mean?  A  sudden  thought  flashed  upon 
me,  and  1  cried  aloud: 


36  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"My  dear  friend,  you  fill  me  with  alarm, 
and  I  am  on  the  point  of  giving  way !  I 
begin  to  suspect  that  I  shall  never  see  the 
ghosts  until  I  have  passed  to  another  world. 
I  believe  that  I  am  doomed  to  die  in  this 
house  to-night !  It  was  indicated  in  the  tone 
of  your  voice." 

With  a  quick  motion  Panhandle  swung 
round  in  his  chair  and  looked  me  full  in  the 
face. 

"  How  do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that  you 
are  not  dead  now,  and  already  passed  to  the 
existence  of  which  you  speak  ?  " 

The  effort  to  answer  his  question  revived  my 
courage.  But  in  all  my  life  I  have  never  found 
a  problem  half  so  difficult.  To  prove  that 
I  was  not  dead  already  and  become  a  ghost ! 
Forty  or  fifty  times  did  I  lay  down  a  new 
set  of  premises,  only  to  be  reminded  by  Pan- 
handle that  I  begged  the  question  in  every 
one.  My  ingenuity  was  taxed  to  breaking 
point,  my  voice  was  exhausted,  the  sweat  was 
pouring  from  my  brows,  when,  once  again, 
from   the  upper  airs  where  the  sky-sign  was 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        37 

swinging,  I  heard  the  same  fluttering  and 
rustling  which  had  arrested  my  attention  at 
a  former  crisis.  It  was  growing  dark,  and  the 
arc-lamps  which  outlined  the  letters  were  all 
aglow.  I  watched  the  transformation,  and 
suddenly  saw,  flashed  out  for  a  moment  into 
the  gathering  darkness,  these  words  : 

"  Give  it  up." 


Ill 


PANHANDLE'S   REMARKABLE    ADVENTURE. 
THE   GHOST  APPEARS 

Dinner  was  now  served.  We  dined  alone, 
and,  in  the  intervals  when  the  footman  was 
out  of  the  room,  I  seized  the  opportunity  to 
probe  further  into  the  mystery  of  the  haunted 
house. 

"  The  ghosts,"  I  said,  "  have  not  appeared. 
Neither  in  my  own  apartment,  nor  in  the  cor- 
ridors, nor  in  the  various  empty  rooms  which 
I  have  visited,  have  I  seen  or  heard  anything 
to  suggest  that  the  house  is  haunted." 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  my  companion,  "  for  the 
grounds  of  your  statement  that  so  far  the 
ghost  has  failed  to  appear  ? " 

"  Save  for  yourself,"  I  answered,  "  the  only 
person  I  have  seen  since  entering  is  the 
footman." 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        39 

"  And  how  do  you  know  that  the  footman 
is  not  a  ghost  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  he  carried  my  bag  upstairs, 
and  pocketed  the  balance  of  half  a  crown  I 
gave  him  to  pay  for  a  telegram." 

"  I  never  heard  a  feebler  argument,"  he 
replied.  "It  is  obvious  that  you  resemble  the 
majority  of  mankind,  who,  if  they  were  to  see 
a  thousand  ghosts  every  day,  would  never 
recognise  one  of  them  for  what  it  was.  Now, 
as  to  the  footman " 

But  at  that  moment  the  individual  in 
question  entered  the  room  bringing  coffee 
and  cigars.  When  he  had  gone  Panhandle 
resumed : 

"  We  were  speaking  of  the  footman.  But 
perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  to  deal  with  the 
matter  in  general  terms.  I  have  already  said 
enough  to  satisfy  any  reasonable  judge  of 
evidence  that  this  is  a  genuinely  haunted 
house.  I  have  now  to  add  that  a  doubt  may 
be  raised  as  to  who  is  the  haunter  and  who  the 
haunted." 

I  sat  silent,  staring  at  Panhandle  with  wide 


40  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

eyes  of  astonishment,  for  I  had  no  universe 
of  discourse  to  which  I  could  relate  the  strange 
things  I  was  hearing.     He  went  on : 

"From  what  I  have  told  you  already  you 
have  no  doubt  drawn  the  inference  that  the 
ghosts  are  haunting  me.  But  the  ghosts 
themselves  are  not  of  that  mind.  In  their 
opinion  it  is  I  who  am  haunting  them.  My 
first  discovery  of  this,  which  is  destined  to 
revolutionise  the  whole  theory  of  ghosts,  was 
made  under  circumstances  which  I  will  now 
relate. 

"Many  years  ago  I  was  seated  in  the 
library  late  one  night  engaged  in  writing  a 
report  of  certain  mysterious  phenomena  which 
had  been  observed  in  this  house.  I  had  just 
completed  a  copy  of  the  signed  evidence  of 
the  cook,  the  gardener,  and  the  housemaid, 
all  of  whom  had  left  that  day  without  notice 
in  consequence  of  something  they  alleged  they 
had  seen.  Suddenly  I  thought  I  heard  a 
whispered  voice  from  the  further  side  of  the 
room,  and  looking  up  I  saw  seated  at  a  table 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        41 

two  beings  of  human  semblance,  who  were 
gazing  intently  in  my  direction. 

" '  Do  you  not  see  something  on  yonder 
chair  ? '  asked  one. 

*' '  Yes,'  answered  the  other,  '  I  certainly 
see  something.  Probably  a  gleam  of  light. 
Observe,  the  curtains  are  not  quite  closed, 
and  this  is  about  the  time  when  they  turn 
on  the  searchlight  at  the  barracks.  Draw 
the  curtains  close  and  it  will  instantly  dis- 
appear.' 

*'  The  speaker  went  to  the  window,  leaving 
the  other  still  staring  fearfully  in  my  direction. 
Having  closed  the  curtains,  the  man  returned 
to  his  place. 

"  '  By  heaven  ! '  he  cried,  *  the  thing  is  still 
there ! '  And  I  could  see  the  pallor  creeping 
over  his  face. 

"  A  moment  later  I  heard  one  of  them  say, 
*  It  has  gone.  Well,  whatever  it  was,  I  have 
had  a  shock.  I  am  trembling  all  over.'  And 
with  that  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  Presently  a  footman  appeared  with  a  bottle 
of  spirits  and  a  siphon.      Having  deposited 


42  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

the  tray,  he  chanced  to  look  towards  the  place 
where  1  was  sitting.  A  piercing  cry  followed, 
and  the  man  ran  screaming  out  of  the  room. 
The  two  men  also  started  to  their  feet  and 
began  shouting  something  I  could  not  hear. 
I  suppose  they  were  calling  to  some  person  in 
the  house,  for  the  shouts  were  quickly  followed 
by  the  entry  of  a  young  fellow  of  athletic 
build  and  truculent  countenance. 

" '  Show  me   your  damned  ghost,'  he  said, 

*  and  I'll  soon  settle  him.' 

"  *  He's  over  there — in  that  seat,'  cried  one. 

*  For  heaven's  sake,  go  up  to  him,  Reginald, 
and  see  what  he's  made  of.' 

"  The  truculent  youth  darted  forward,  but 
suddenly  came  to  a  dead  stop,  with  a  face  as 
white  as  a  sheet.  Then  with  a  trembling 
hand  he  whipped  a  revolver  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  at  five  paces  fired  all  six  barrels  point- 
blank  at  my  body.  At  each  shot  I  was  aware 
of  a  painful  feeling  in  the  penumbra  of  my 
consciousness,  like  the  sudden  awakening  of  a 
buried  sorrow." 

At  this  point  Panhandle  paused  to  relight 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        43 

his  cigar,  and  I  took  the  opportunity  to  make 
a  remark. 

"  Count  it  no  grievance,"  I  said,  "  if  one 
who  shoots  at  psychologists  is  himself  occa- 
sionally shot  at.  I  surmise  that  the  truculent 
youth  was  the  ghost  of  a  promising  psycho- 
logist, foully  murdered  by  your  nefarious  gun." 

"  Name  it  a  righteous  execution,  and  I  shall 
agree,"  he  answered. 

"  Or  it  may  be,"  I  added,  "  that  many  of  the 
sudden  and  inexplicable  pains  that  break  out 
in  our  minds  and  in  our  bodies  are  caused  by 
ghosts,  or  whatever  you  call  them,  shooting  at 
us,  or  stabbing  us,  to  test  our  reality." 

Panhandle  turned  a  keen  glance  at  my  face 
to  see  if  I  was  serious,  and,  being  satisfied  that 
I  was,  continued : 

"I  have  heard  more  unlikely  explanations 
of  such  pains,  and  your  theory  is  precisely  one 
of  those  which  medical  science  will  have  to 
investigate  when  these  discoveries  of  mine 
are  made  public.  But  let  me  resume  the 
narrative. 

"  At  the  soimd  of   the  firing  the  whole 


44  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

household  seemed  to  be  aroused.  And  what 
a  household  it  was  I  In  a  few  moments  the 
room  was  crowded  with  beings  of  reverend 
countenance  and  stately  carriage.  Looking 
round  with  slow,  grave  eyes,  they  conversed 
in  whispers.  *  Science  must  investigate  this,' 
one  of  them  said.  '  We  will  arrange  that 
a  committee  of  the  Society  shall  make  a 
thorough  examination  of  the  house  and  test 
the  phenomena.  Don't  forget  to  engage 
two  shorthand  writers  and  an  expert  in  spirit 
photography.  And  let  the  room  be  sealed  up 
till  the  experts  arrive.' 

"During  the  whole  of  these  proceedings 
I  remained  absolutely  still,  my  acquaintance 
with  the  other  world  having  taught  me  the 
wisdom  of  reticence.  At  this  point,  however, 
I  resolved  to  attempt  communication  with 
my  visitors,  and,  looking  round  for  a  person 
to  whom  I  might  address  myself,  I  observed  a 
bright  little  fellow  of  twelve  years  old  staring 
about  him  in  an  absent-minded  way,  quite 
inattentive  to  all  that  was  going  on.  As  I 
walked  over  to  where  he  was  standing  he  saw 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        45 

me  plainly,  and  showed  not  the  least  surprise 
on  being  addressed. 

"  *  What  is  your  name,  my  little  man  ? '  I 
asked. 

"  '  Billy  Burst,'  said  he. 

*' '  And  what  are  you  thinking  about  while 
all  those  people  are  making  such  a  fuss  ? ' 

"  *  /  am  wondering  how  people  weigh  the 
planets,'  he  answered. 

" '  Come  along  with  me,'  said  I,  '  and  I  will 
show  you  just  what  you  want  to  know.' 

"  Then  taking  him  by  the  hand  I  led  him 
across  the  room  to  the  seat  I  had  just  left ; 
but  though  the  sages  who  were  present  saw 
him  cross  the  room,  not  one  of  them  saw  me, 
who  was  leading  him  by  the  hand. 

"  I  took  out  a  sheet  of  paper  and  began 
to  draw  figures  and  work  formulae,  the  boy 
meanwhile  standing  by  the  side  of  my  chair 
and  saying  not  a  word.  When  I  had  finished 
I  said : 

"  '  Do  you  understand  ? ' 

" '  Perfectly,'  he  answered ;  *  I  see  it  at  last. 
Thank  you  ever  so  much.' 


46  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

" '  Now  Billy,'  I  said,  '  there  is  something 
you  can  do  for  me.  I  want  you  to  stand  on 
that  chair  and  tell  the  people  that  the  person 
they  are  making  the  fuss  about  is  named 
Panhandle,  that  you  know  him,  that  he  is  real 
and  quite  harmless,  and  that  he  hopes  they 
won't  shoot  at  him  any  more,  because  it  hurts. 
Say  you  are  quite  certain  he  is  real,  because  he 
has  just  told  you  how  the  planets  are  weighed.' 

"  '  Dear  Pan,'  said  Billy,  *  don't  ask  me  to 
do  that.  I  never  tell  people  about  you ;  they 
would  only  laugh  at  me  if  I  did.  Let  us 
keep  just  as  we  are,  old  fellow,  and  not  tell 
our  secret  to  anybody.' 

"  Unprepared  for  a  style  of  address  so  familiar, 
*  Why,  Billy,'  I  said,  '  I  have  never  seen  you 
before.' 

" '  Are  you  quite  sure  you  see  me  now  ? '  he 
replied. 

"  Our  positions  had  become  reversed — Billy 
sitting  in  my  study  chair  that  he  might  read 
over  what  I  had  written  about  the  planets, 
I  standing  by  his  side.  I  looked  down  to 
answer  his  last  question,  and  for  the  briefest 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        47 

fraction  of  a  second  a  vision  passed  before  me. 
The  object  beneath  me  was  not  my  study 
chair,  but  a  small  iron  bedstead  on  which 
there  lay  a  boy,  fast  asleep.  It  passed  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  I  found  myself  seated 
as  before  at  my  desk ;  the  half-finished  report 
was  before  me,  and,  save  myself,  not  a  soul 
was  in  the  room.  '  It  is  certain,'  thought  I, 
'  that  I  am  haunting  somebody.  In  the 
name  of  all  the  secret  Powers  that  guide  the 
fates  of  men — whom  am  I  haunting  ? " 

"  A  marvellous  story,"  I  cried ;  "  and  more 
significant  than  even  you.  Panhandle,  are 
aware.  J  knew  Billy  Burst.  He  and  I  were 
schoolmates,  and  practised  magic  together 
under  the  guidance  of  a  mysterious  Power 
whose  name  Billy  would  never  disclose." 

**  You  knew  Billy  Burst  I  "  exclaimed  Pan- 
handle. "  My  friend,  you  fill  me  with 
astonishment  and  delight.  Did  I  not  say  we 
were  on  the  eve  of  great  discoveries  ?  Tell 
me  all  you  know  about  Billy,  for  the  matter 
is  of  the  utmost  importance." 


48  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

"  You  are  making  me  wait  for  the  appear- 
ance of  the  ghost,"  said  I,  "  and  must  not  be 
aggrieved  if  I  make  you  wait  for  information 
about  BiUy." 

"  I  again  pledge  my  word  to  you,"  he 
answered,  "  that  you  shall  see  a  ghost  this 
very  night." 

"  And  I  pledge  mine  to  you  that  you  shall 
hear  all  about  Billy  as  soon  as  the  ghost 
appears.     But  it  is  my  turn  first." 

"  Let  us  make  it  a  covenant,"  he  said. 

"  Agreed  ! "  I  answered. 

"  Then  shake  hands  over  the  bargain." 

As  he  said  this  he  stood  up  and  extended 
his  hand. 

With  the  utmost  eagerness  I  sprang  to  my 
feet  and  made  the  reciprocating  gesture.  For 
an  instant  I  thought  that  excitement  had  un- 
steadied  me,  for  my  hand,  seeking  his,  seemed 
to  move  at  random  in  the  vacant  air.  Then 
I  made  a  second  attempt,  carefully  noting  the 
position  of  his  extended  palm,  and  this  time 
the  truth  dawned  upon  me  in  a  flash.  My 
hand,  indeed,  grasped  what  seemed  to  be  his. 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        49 

But  there  was  no  substance  to  resist  my 
closing  fingers,  no  hardness  of  interior  bones, 
no  softness  of  enveloping  tissues,  no  pressure, 
no  contact,  no  warmth. 

"  Panhandle,"  I  cried,  *'  you  are  a  ghost !" 

"  Hush  !  "  he  answered  ;  "  we  never  use  that, 
term  in  addressing  one  another.  Whatever  I 
am,  you  are  also  in  process  of  becoming.  You 
have  been  slow  in  making  the  discovery.  I 
thought  you  had  found  me  out  when  we  stood 
among  the  cypress  in  the  garden." 

I  was  trembling  all  over  and  had  no  control 
over  the  next  words  that  came  to  my  tongue. 
What  they  were  I  cannot  remember,  but 
Panhandle's  reply  seems  to  indicate  that  I  had 
been  imploring  him  to  tell  me  what  kind  of 
a  ghost  he  was. 

"  Certainly  not  a  character  taken  out  of  a 
novel,"  he  was  saying.  "  Think  of  the  other 
orders  of  spirits  who  I  told  you  were  haunting 
the  house,  and  place  me  in  the  last  and 
highest." 

"  You   are   the  ghost  of  a  philosophy ! "  I 

said. 

4 


60  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

"  I  am." 

"  Whose  philosophy  are  you  ? "  I  shouted, 
for  the  figure  of  Panhandle  was  rapidly  sliding 
away  into  the  distance. 

"  Your  own  I "  was  the  answer. 

"  Come  back,  beloved  Panhandle  I "  I  called 
after  the  retreating  figure.  "  Come  back  and 
let  me  fulfil  my  part  of  the  compact  before 
you  go.  I  have  yet  to  tell  you  the  story  of 
Billy  Burst." 

"  I  shall  read  it  in  the  next  chapter  of  your 
book,"  was  the  reply,  now  almost  inaudible,  so 
great  was  the  distance  from  which  it  came. 

I  called  yet  louder,  "  I  have  a  ghost-story 
to  tell  you,  dear  Panhandle.  Very  important. 
About  the  ghost  of  a  novelist.  Far  better 
than  yours  about  the  novelist's  characters  ! " 

"  I  shall  read  about  that  in  the  next  chapter 
but  one." 

Such,  I  am  fain  to  believe,  was  the  answer. 
But  the  voice  had  now  become  so  faint  that 
this  rendering  of  the  words  is  given  with 
reserve.  My  first  impression  was  that  Pan- 
handle said  simply,  **  Pooh,  pooh  I " 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE   GHOSTS        51 

I  was  determined  not  to  let  him  go.  Rais- 
ing my  voice  to  the  uttermost,  I  continued 
to  call  him.  "  Come  back,"  1  kept  shouting, 
'*  and  arm  me  with  one  more  word  of  wisdom 
for  the  battle  of  life  I  Without  you,  Pan- 
handle, I  have  no  protector,  and  the  psycho- 
logists will  surely  devour  me." 

At  the  sound  of  the  word  "  psychologists  " 
Panhandle's  flight  was  suddenly  arrested.  In 
one  swoop  he  retraversed  the  vast  space  that 
now  lay  between  us,  and  returned  to  his 
original  position. 

"  Hear,  then,  my  last  word,"  he  said.  "  The 
chief  errors  of  mankind  issue  from  the  notion 
that  thinking  is  a  solitary  process  and  the 
thinker  an  isolated  being.  In  writing  their 
works  or  monologues  the  thinkers,  with  few 
exceptions,  have  mistaken  the  form  which  is 
proper  to  philosophy  and  thereby  done  violence 
to  the  true  nature  of  thought.  All  thinking 
is  the  work  of  a  community ;  its  form  is  con- 
versational and,  in  the  highest  stages,  dra- 
matic. For  want  of  this  knowledge  many 
philosophers   have  gone  astray.     Ignorant  of 


52  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

the  other  minds  with  which  their  own  are  in 
communion,  deaf  to  the  voices  which  mingle 
with  theirs  in  the  eternal  dialogue  of  thought, 
they  have  uttered  their  message  as  a  weary 
monologue,  and  the  vivid  interplay  of  mind 
with  mind,  the  quick  debate  of  reacting 
spirits,  which  is  the  very  life  of  thought,  has 
fallen  dead.  In  the  course  of  your  education, 
which  has  properly  begun  to-day,  you  will 
become  acquainted  with  a  multitude  of  inter- 
locutors whose  existence  you  have  never  sus- 
pected, though  they  have  been  addressing  you 
from  the  first  moment  you  began  to  think 
and  contributing  much  of  what  you  consider 
most  original  in  your  thought.  These  are  the 
ghosts  by  whom  you  will  henceforth  be  haunted, 
until,  finally,  they  make  you  one  of  themselves 
and  carry  you  to  heaven  in  a  whirlwind  of  fire. 
Farewell." 

Having  said  this,  he  instantly  vanished, 
leaving  behind  him  a  faint  odour  of  Havana 
cigars. 

At  the  same  moment  a  marvellous  change, 
the  stages  of  which  have  left  no  record  on  my 


PANHANDLE   AND  THE  GHOSTS        5S 

memory,  passed  over  me.  I  found  myself  in 
the  place  where  I  am  at  this  moment,  this 
identical  sheet  of  paper  was  under  my  hand, 
this  pen  was  writing,  and  the  ink  of  the  last 
paragraph  was  still  wet. 


THE  MAGIC  FORMULA 


Many  years  ago  I  had  a  schoolfellow  and 
bosom  friend  whom  I  knew  as  Billy,  but 
whose  name  as  it  stood  in  the  Register  was 
William  Xavier  Plosive.  Where  his  family 
came  from,  or  where  they  got  their  outlandish 
name,  1  know  not.  From  its  rarity  I  infer 
that  the  Plosive  stock  has  not  multiplied 
lavishly  on  the  earth.  Only  twice,  since  the 
days  of  my  friendship  with  Billy,  have  I 
encountered  that  name.  There  is,  or  was,  a 
wayside  public-house  in  Devonshire,  the  land- 
lord of  which  was  a  Plosive ;  it  bore  the  sign 
of  the  "  Dog  and  Ladle,"  which  the  sign- 
board interpreted  by  a  picture  of  a  large 
retriever  in  precipitate  flight  with  a  tin  ladle 
tied  to  his  tail.     The   other  Plosive   of  my 

54 


THE   MAGIC   FORMULA  55 

acquaintance  kept  a  shop  in  a  Canadian  city ; 
he  was  a  French  half-breed,  and,  as  I  have 
heard,  a  great  rascal. 

Billy's  father  was  said  to  have  been  a 
Roman  Catholic ;  and  I  infer  from  the  name 
he  bestowed  on  his  son  that  he  had  a  turn  for 
waggishness  of  a  sort.  Plosive  senior  must 
have  foreseen  what  would  happen.  No  sooner, 
of  course,  was  the  name  William  X.  Plosive 
seen  on  the  outside  of  the  poor  boy's  copy- 
books than  a  whisper  passed  through  the 
whole  school — "  Billy  Burst."  And  that  name 
remained  with  him  to  the  end.  It  was  more 
appropriate  than  its  bestowers  knew. 

"  When  did  Billy  burst  ? "  "  Why  did  Billy 
burst?"  "Will  Billy  burst  again?"  and  a 
hundred  questions  of  the  like  order  were 
asked  all  day  long  apropos  of  nothing.  They 
were  shouted  in  the  playground.  They  were 
whispered  in  the  class.  They  broke  the 
silence  of  the  dormitory  in  the  dead  of  night. 
With  them  we  relieved  our  pent-up  feelings 
in  hours  of  tedium  or  of  gloom.  Introduced 
pianissimo,  they  profaned  the  daily  half-hour 


56  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

devoted  to  the  study  of  Divinity.  Innumer- 
able impositions  followed  in  their  train.  One 
morning  the  Rev.  Cyril  Puttock,  M.A.,  who 
"took"  us  in  Divinity,  saw  written  large  on 
the  blackboard  in  front  of  him  these  words  : 
"What  burst  Billy?"  I  spent  my  next  half- 
holiday  in  writing  out  the  Beatitudes  a 
hundred  times. 

Billy  and  I  slept  in  the  same  dormitory  and 
our  beds  were  side  by  side.  Both  of  us  were 
bad  sleepers,  and  many  a  deep  affinity  did  our 
souls  discover  in  the  silent  watches  of  the 
night.  As  a  place  to  observe  the  workings  of 
telepathy  I  know  of  no  spot  on  earth  to 
compare  with  the  dormitory  of  a  boarding- 
school.  The  atmosphere  of  our  dormitory 
was,  if  I  may  say  so,  in  a  state  of  chronic 
telepathic  saturation,  and  the  area  where  the 
currents  ran  strongest  was  in  the  space  between 
Billy's  bed  and  mine.  This  is  the  sort  of  thing 
that  would  go  on  : 

"  Billy,  are  you  awake  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  knew  you  were," 

"ShaUwetalk?" 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  57 

"  I  want  to,  ever  so." 

"  I  say,  we  are  going  to  have  that  beastly 
pudding  for  dinner  to-morrow." 

"  That's  just  what  I  want  to  talk  about." 

"I've  got  an  idea.  Billy,  I  found  out 
yesterday  where  they  cook  those  puddings. 
They  boil  them  in  the  copper  of  the  out- 
house, and  the  cook  leaves  them  there  while 
she  looks  after  the  rest  of  the  dinner." 

"  Ripping ! "  answered  Billy.  "  /'//  tell  you 
what  we'll  do. — Hush  I  Is  old  Ginger  awake  ? 
— All  right.  Well,  we'll  sneak  into  the  out- 
house to-morrow  when  the  cook  isn't  looking, 
pinch  the  puddings  out  of  the  copper  and 
chuck  'em  in  the  pond." 

"  Why,  Billy,  that's  just  what  I  was  going 
to  say  to  you.  But  won't  we  scald  our- 
selves ? " 

"I've  thought  of  that.  We'll  get  the 
garden  fork  and  jab  it  into  the  puddings. 
They  boil  'em  in  bags,  you  know." 

*'  There's  a  better  way  than  that.  We'll 
get  in  before  the  copper  has  begun  to  boil." 

"  I  hadn't  thought  of  that,  but  I  was  just 


68  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

going    to,'"    said     Billy.      "Yes,    that's    the 
way." 

Enterprises  such  as  these,  however,  were 
episodic,  and  merely  serve  to  show  how  great 
souls,  born  under  the  same  star,  and  united 
in  the  grand  trend  of  their  life-directions, 
share  also  the  minor  details  of  their  activity. 
The  seat  of  our  affinities  lay  deeper.  Both 
Billy  and  I  were  persons  with  an  "  end " 
in  life,  and  breathed  in  common  the  atmo- 
sphere of  great  designs.  We  were  like  two 
young  trees  planted  side  by  side  on  a  breezy 
hill-top.  Our  roots  were  in  the  same  soil; 
our  branches  swayed  to  the  same  rhythm  ;  we 
heard  the  same  secrets  from  the  whispering 
winds.  We  were  always  on  the  heights. 
Few  were  the  days  of  our  companionship 
when  we  were  not  infatuated  about  something 
or  other ;  and  I  sometimes  doubt  whether 
even  yet  I  have  outgrown  the  habit,  so  deep 
was  its  spring  in  my  own  nature  and  so  strong 
the  reinforcement  it  received  from  the  influ- 
ence of  Billy.  Sometimes  we  were  infatuated 
about  the  same  thing ;  and  sometimes  each  of 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  69 

us  struck  out  an  independent  line  of  his  own ; 
but  always  we  were  the  victims  of  one  mania 
or  another. 

At  the  time  this  history  begins  the  particular 
mania  that  afflicted  me  was  the  collecting  of 
tramcar  tickets.  My  friends  used  to  save 
them  for  me ;  I  begged  them  from  passengers 
as  they  alighted  from  the  cars ;  I  picked  them 
up  in  the  street ;  and  I  had  over  seven 
thousand  collected  in  a  box.  I  thought  that 
when  the  sum  had  risen  to  ten  thousand  the 
goal  of  my  existence  would  be  reached ; 
and  it  may  be  said  that  I  lived  for  little 
else. 

Billy's  mania  was  astronomy.  He  would 
spend  the  hours  of  his  playtime  lying  on  his 
stomach  with  a  map  of  the  stars  spread  out 
before  him  on  the  floor.  Billy  was  a  great 
astronomer — in  secret.  On  the  very  day  when 
he  and  I  were  being  initiated  into  the  mysteries 
of  Decimals,  he  whispered  to  me  in  class,  "  I 
say,  I  wonder  how  people  found  out  the 
weight  of  the  planets."  He  was  an  absent- 
minded  boy,  and  many  a  clout  on  the  head 


60  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

did  he  receive  at  this  time  for  paying  no 
attention  to  what  was  going  on  in  class. 
Little  did  the  master  know  what  Billy  was 
thinking  of  as  he  stared  at  the  wall  before  him 
with  his  great,  dreamy  eyes — and  not  for  ten 
thousand  worlds  would  Billy  have  told  him. 
He  was  thinking  about  the  weight  of  the 
planets,  and  the  problem  lay  heavy  on  his 
soul ;  and  Billy  grew  ever  more  absent- 
minded,  and  spent  more  time  on  his  stomach 
every  day.  At  last  he  suddenly  waked  up 
and  began  to  get  top-marks  not  only  in 
Arithmetic  but  in  every  other  subject  as  well. 
And  later  on,  when  we  came  to  the  Quadratic 
Equations  and  the  Higher  Geometry,  the 
master  was  amazed  to  find  that  Billy  required 
no  teaching  at  all. 

"What  has  happened  to  Billy?"  asked 
somebody ;  and  the  answer  came,  "  Why,  of 
course,  Billy  has  burst.'' 

So  he  had.  Billy  had  found  out  "  how  they 
weighed  the  planets,"  and  the  mass  of  darkness 
that  oppressed  him  had  been  blown  away  in 
the  explosion.     About  the  same  time  I  burst 


THE  MAGIC  FORMULA  61 

also.  On  counting  up  my  tickets  I  found 
there  were  ten  thousand  of  them. 

Then  came  a  pause,  during  which  Billy  and 
I  wandered  about  in  dry  places  seeking  rest 
and  finding  none.  Life  lost  its  spring  and  the 
world  seemed  very  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable. 
Conversation  flagged,  or  became  provocative 
of  irritable  rejoinders.  "  I  say,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  all  those  tramcar  tickets  ? " 
asked  Billy  one  day.  **  Oh,  shut  up ! "  1 
replied.  Shortly  afterwards  it  was  my  turn. 
"  Billy,  tell  me  what  they  mean  by  '  sidereal 
time.' "     "  Oh,  shut  up  ! "  said  he. 

We  were  both  waiting  for  the  new  birth,  or 
the  new  explosion,  utterly  unconscious  of  our 
condition.  But  the  Powers-that-be  were 
maturing  their  preparations,  and,  all  being 
complete,  they  put  the  match  to  the  train  in 
the  following  manner. 

The  usual  exchange  of  measles  and  whooping- 
cough  had  been  going  on  in  our  school,  and 
Billy  and  1  being  convalescent  from  the  latter 
complaint,  to  which  we  had  both  succumbed 
at  the  same  time,  were  sent  out  one  day  to 


6a  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

take  an  airing  in  the  Park.  On  passing  down 
a  certain  walk,  shaded  by  planes,  we  noticed 
a  very  old  gentleman  seated  in  a  bath-chair 
which  had  been  wheeled  under  the  shadow  of 
one  of  the  trees.  He  sat  in  the  chair  with  his 
head  bent  forward  on  his  chest,  and  his  wasted 
hands  were  spread  out  on  the  cover.  He 
seemed  an  image  of  decrepitude,  a  symbol  of 
approaching  death.  He  was  absolutely  still. 
A  young  woman  on  the  bench  beside  him  was 
reading  aloud  from  a  book. 

1  think  it  was  the  immobility  of  the  old 
man  that  first  arrested  our  attention.  The 
moment  we  saw  him  we  stopped  dead  in  our 
walk  and  stood,  motionless  as  the  figure  before 
us,  staring  at  what  we  saw.  We  just  stared 
without  thinking,  but  even  at  this  long  dis- 
tance I  can  remember  a  vague  emotion  that 
stirred  me,  as  though  I  had  suddenly  heard 
the  wings  of  time  beating  over  my  innocent 
head,  or  as  though  a  faint  scent  of  death  had 
arisen  in  the  air  around ;  such,  I  suppose,  as 
horses  or  dogs  may  feel  when  they  pass  over 
the  spot  where  a  man  has  been  slain. 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  63 

Suddenly  Billy  Burst  clutched  my  arm — 
he  had  a  habit  of  doing  that. 

"  1  say,"  he  whispered,  "  let's  go  up  to  him 
and  ask  him  to  tell  us  the  time'' 

We  crept  up  to  the  bath-chair  like  two  timid 
animals,  literally  sniffing  the  air  as  we  went. 
Neither  the  old  man  nor  his  companion  had 
noticed  us,  and  it  was  not  until  we  had  both 
stopped  in  front  of  them  that  the  reader 
looked  up  from  her  book.  The  old  man  was 
still  unaware  of  our  presence. 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Billy,  '*  would  you 
mind  telling  us  the  time  ? " 

At  the  sound  of  Billy's  voice  the  old  man 
seemed  to  wake  from  his  dream.  He  lifted 
his  head  and  listened,  as  though  he  heard  him- 
self summoned  from  a  far  point  in  space  ;  and 
his  eyes  wandered  vaguely  from  side  to  side 
unable  to  focus  the  speaker.  Then  they  fell 
on  Billy  and  his  gaze  was  arrested. 

Now  Billy  was  a  beautiful  person — the  very 
image  of  his  mater.  The  eyes  of  the  houri 
were  his,  the  lids  slightly  elevated  at  the 
outer  angle ;  he  had  the  mouth  of  them  that 


64  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

are  born  to  speak  good  things ;  and  about  his 
brow  there  played  a  light  which  made  you 
dream  of  high  Olympus  and  of  ancestors  who 
had  lived  with  the  gods.  Yes,  there  was  a 
star  on  Billy's  forehead ;  and  this  star  it  was 
that  arrested  the  gaze  of  the  old  man. 

A  look  of  indescribable  pleasure  overspread 
the  withered  face.  It  almost  seemed  as  if,  for 
a  moment,  youth  returned  to  him,  or  as  if  a 
breath  of  spring  had  awakened  in  the  midst  of 
the  winter's  frost. 

"The  time,  laddie?"  said  he,  "Why,  yes, 
of  course  1  can  give  you  the  time ;  as  much 
of  it  as  you  want.  For,  don't  you  see,  I'm  a 
very  old  fellow — ninety-one  last  birthday ; 
which  I  should  think  is  not  more  than  eighty 
years  older  than  you,  my  little  man.  So  I've 
plenty  of  time  to  spare.  But  don't  take  too 
much  of  it,  my  laddie.  It's  not  good  for  little 
chaps  like  you.  Now,  how  much  of  the  time 
would  you  like  ?  " 

"  The  correct  time,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said 
Billy,  ignoring  the  quantitative  form  in  which 
the  question  had  been  framed. 


THE   MAGIC   FORMULA  65 

So  the  old  gentleman  gave  us  the  correct 
time.  When  we  had  passed  on,  I  looked 
back  and  saw  that  he  was  talking  eagerly  to 
his  companion  and  pointing  at  Billy. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Billy  as  soon  as 
we  were  out  of  hearing.  "  I've  found  out 
something.  It  does  old  gentlemen  good  to  ask 
them  the  time.  Let's  ask  some  more." 
L  So  for  an  hour  or  more  we  wandered  about 
■  looking  out  for  old  gentlemen — "  to  do  them 
good."  Several  whom  we  met  were  rejected 
by  Billy  on  the  ground  that  they  were  not  old 
I  enough,  and  allowed  to  pass  unquestioned. 
Some  three  or  four  came  up  to  the  standard, 
and  at  each  experiment  we  found  that  our 
magic  formula  worked  with  wonderful  success. 
It  provoked  smiles  and  kind  words  ;  it  pleased 
the  old  gentlemen ;  it  did  them  good.  Old 
hands  were  laid  on  young  shoulders ;  old  faces 
lit  up ;  old  watches  were  pulled  out  of  old 
pockets.  One  was  a  marvel  with  a  long 
inscription  on  the  gold  back  of  it.  And  the 
old  gentleman  showed  us  the  inscription, 
which  stated  that  the  watch  had  been  pre- 


66  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

sented  to  him  by  his  supporters  for  his  services 
to  political  progress  and  for  the  gallant  way 
in  which  he  had  fought  the  election  at  So-and- 
so  in  1867.  Yes,  it  did  the  old  gentlemen 
good.  But,  be  it  observed,  Billy  was  the 
spokesman  every  time. 

From  that  time  onward,  Billy  and  I  were 
Masters  in  Magic,  no  less,  infatuated  with 
our  calling  and  devoted  to  our  formula.  The 
star-books  were  bundled  into  Billy's  play-box  ; 
the  ten  thousand  tramcar  tickets  were  thrown 
into  the  fire. 

Never  since  the  world  began,  thought  we, 
had  a  more  glorious  game  been  invented, 
never  had  so  important  an  enterprise  been 
conceived  by  the  wit  of  man  and  entrusted  to 
two  apostles  twelve  years  old.  A  world-wide 
mission  to  old  gentlemen  was  ours.  Who 
would  have  believed  there  were  so  many  of 
them  ?  They  seemed  to  spring  into  existence, 
to  gather  themselves  from  the  four  quarters  of 
the  earth,  in  order  that  they  might  receive  the 
healing  touch  of  our  formula.  We  met  them 
in  the  street,  in  the  Park,  by  the  river,  at  the 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  67 

railway  station,  coming  out  of  church — every- 
where. And  all  were  completely  in  our  power. 
Oh,  it  was  magnificent ! 

So  it  went  on  for  three  or  four  weeks.  But 
a  shock  was  in  store  for  us. 

At  first,  as  I  have  said,  Billy  was  the 
spokesman.  But  there  came  a  day  when 
it  seemed  good  that  some  independence  of 
action  should  be  introduced  into  the  partner- 
ship. Billy  went  one  way  and  I  an- 
other. 

Going  on  alone,  I  presently  espied  an  old 
gentleman,  of  promising  antiquity,  walking 
briskly  down  one  of  the  gravel  paths.  He 
was  intermittently  reading  a  newspaper. 
Trotting  up  behind  him,  I  observed  that  in 
the  intervals  of  his  reading  he  would  be  talking 
to  himself.  He  would  read  for  half  a  minute 
and  then,  whipping  the  newspaper  behind  his 
back,  begin  to  declaim,  as  though  he  were 
making  a  speech,  quickening  his  pace  mean- 
while, so  that  I  was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  up 
with  him.  Indeed  I  had  to  run,  and  was  out 
of  breath  when,  coming  up  alongside,  I  popped 


68  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

out  my  question,  "  If  you  please,  sir,  what 
o'clock  is  it  ? " 

"  Go  to  the  devil ! "  growled  the  old  ruffian. 
And  without  pausing  even  to  look  at  me  he 
strode  on,  continuing  his  declamation,  of  which 
I  happen  to  remember  very  distinctly  these 
words :  "  I  cannot,  my  Lords,  I  will  not,  join 
in  congratulating  the  government  on  the 
disgrace  into  which  they  have  brought  the 
country."  I  recall  these  words  because  they 
resembled  something  in  a  speech  of  Chatham's 
which  I  had  to  learn  by  heart  at  school,  and  I 
remember  wondering  whether  the  old  gentle- 
man was  trying  to  learn  the  same  speech  and 
getting  it  wrong,  or  whether  he  was  making 
up  something  of  his  own. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  had  received  a  blow  and 
my  fondest  illusion  was  shattered.  I  was  per- 
sonally insulted.  As  a  professional  magician 
I  was  flouted,  and  my  calling  dishonoured. 
And,  worst  of  all,  the  magic  had  broken 
down.  For  the  first  time  the  formula  had 
failed  to  work — had  done  the  old  gentleman 
no  good.     It  cut  me  to  the  heart. 


THE   MAGIC   FORMULA  69 

I  ran  about  in  great  distress,  seeking  Billy, 
whom  finding  presently  I  informed  in  general 
terms  of  what  had  happened. 

"  What  did  you  say  to  the  old  beast  ? "  asked 
Billy. 

"  I  said,  '  If  you  please,  sir,  what  o'clock  is 
it?'" 

"  Oh,  you  ass ! "  cried  Billy.  "  Those  are 
the  wrong  words.  If  you'd  said,  *  Would  you 
mind  telling  me  the  time  ? '  he'd  have  gone 
down  like  a  ninepin.  Only  cads  say  'what 
o'clock.'  He  thought  you  were  a  cad !  Oh, 
you  idiot !     Leave  me  to  do  it  next  time." 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  the  partnership 
was  resumed  on  its  old  basis,  with  Billy  as  the 
predominant  member  and  spokesman  of  the 
Firm. 

And  now  we  entered  on  what  I  still  regard 
as  an  enterprise  of  pith  and  moment.  We 
determined,  after  long  colloquy  in  the  bed- 
room, to  waylay  this  recalcitrant  old  gentle- 
man once  more,  and  repeat  our  question  in 
its  proper  form,  and  with  Billy  as  spokesman. 
Had  I  been  alone,  my  courage  would  certainly 


70  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

have  failed  to  carry  me  through.  But  with 
Billy  at  my  side  I  was  never  afraid  of  any- 
thing either  then  or  afterwards.  O  Billy,  if 
only  you  had  been  with  me — then — and  then 
— if  only  I  had  felt  your  presence  when  the 
great  waters  went  over  me,  if  only  I  could 
have  seen  your  tilted  dreaming  eyes  when — 
1  would  have  made  a  better  thing  of  it, 
indeed  I  would  !  But  one  was  taken  and  the 
other  left;  and  I  had  to  fight  those  battles 
alone — alone,  but  not  forgetful  of  you.  I  did 
not  fight  them  very  well,  Billy ;  and  yet  not 
so  ill  as  I  should  have  done  had  I  never 
known  you. 

Well,  for  several  days  the  declaiming  gentle- 
man, whom  we  now  knew  as  "  the  old  beast," 
and  never  called  by  any  other  name,  failed  to 
appear.  But  at  last  we  caught  sight  of  him, 
striding  along  and  violently  whipping  his 
newspaper  behind  his  back,  just  as  before. 

On  the  former  occasion,  when  I  was  alone, 
I  had  operated  from  the  rear,  but  with  Billy 
in  support,  I  proposed  that  we  should  attack 
from  the  front.     So  we  threw  ourselves  in  his 


THE  MAGIC  FORMULA  71 

path  and  marched  steadily  to  meet  him.  On 
he  came,  and  as  he  drew  near,  down  went  the 
newspaper,  and,  as  though  he  were  spitting 
poison,  he  hissed  out  from  between  his  teeth 
a  fearful  sentence,  of  which  the  last  words 
were :  "  the  most  iniquitous  government  that 
has  ever  betrayed  and  abused  the  confidence 
of  a  sovereign  people" — staring  meanwhile 
straight  over  our  heads. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Billy  in  his  singing 
voice,  "  would  you  mind  telling  us  the  time  ? " 

"  Go   to "      But   at   that   moment   the 

gentleman  lowered  his  fierce  old  eyes  and 
encountered  the  gaze  of  Billy,  who  was  stand- 
ing full  in  his  path. 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  wild  beast  suddenly 
grow  tame  ?  I  have  not,  but  I  saw  something 
like  it  on  the  occasion  of  which  I  speak.  Never 
did  a  swifter  or  more  astonishing  change  pass 
over  the  countenance  of  any  human  being.  I 
really  think  the  old  fellow  suffered  a  physical 
shock,  for  he  stepped  back  two  paces  and 
looked  for  a  moment  like  one  who  has  been 
seriously  hurt.     Then  he  recovered  himself; 


72  ALL  MEN   ARE  GHOSTS 

lowered  his  spectacles  to  the  tip  of  his  nose ; 
gazed  over  them,  at  me  for  a  moment,  at 
Billy  for  a  quarter  of  a  minute,  and  finally 
broke  out  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Well,"  he  exclaimed,  in  the  merriest  of 
voices,  "you're  a  couple  of  young  rascals. 
What  are  your  names,  and  how  old  are  you, 
and  what  school  do  you  belong  to,  and  who 
are  your  fathers  ? " 

We  answered  his  questions  in  a  fairly 
business-like  manner  until  we  came  to  that 
about  the  fathers.  Here  there  was  an  inter- 
lude. For  Billy  had  to  explain,  in  succession, 
that  he  had  no  father,  and  no  mother,  and  no 
brothers,  and  no  sisters — indeed,  no  relations 
at  all  that  he  knew  of.  And  there  was  some 
emotion  at  this  point. 

"Bless  my  soul,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
"  that's  very  sad — very  sad  indeed.  But  who 
pays  for  your  schooling  ? " 

"A  friend  of  my  mater's,"  said  Billy. 
"  He's  very  good  to  me  and  has  me  to  his 
house  for  the  holidays." 

"  And  gives  you  plenty  of  pocket-money  ? " 


THE   MAGIC   FORMULA  73 

"  Lots,"  answered  Billy. 

The  old  gentleman  ruminated,  and  there 
was  more  emotion. 

"  Then  you  are  not  an  unhappy  boy  ? "  he 
said  at  length. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  answered  Billy. 

"Thank  God  for  that!  Thank  God  for 
that !  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  learn  you 
were  unhappy.  I  hope  you  never  will  be. 
You  don't  look  unhappy." 

"  I'm  not,"  repeated  Billy. 

All  this  time  the  old  gentleman  seemed 
quite  unconscious  of  my  existence.  But  I 
was  not  hurt  by  that.  I  was  well  used  to 
being  overlooked  when  Billy  was  with  me, 
and  never  questioned  for  a  moment  the  justice 
of  the  arrangement.  But  now  the  old  gentle- 
man seemed  to  recollect  himself. 

"  What  was  it  you  asked  me  just  now  ? " 
said  he. 

"  We  asked  if  you  would  mind  telling  us 
the  time." 

"  Ha,  just  so.  Now  are  you  quite  sure 
that  what  you  asked  for  is  what  you  want  ? 


74  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

You  said  ^the  time'  not  *tiine.'  For  you 
must  know,  my  dears,  that  there's  a  great 
difference  between  'time'  and  *the  time.'" 

Billy  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  perplexed 
and  disgusted — perplexed  by  the  subtle  dis- 
tinction just  drawn  by  the  old  gentleman  ; 
disgusted  at  being  addressed  as  "  my  dears." 
("  He  might  as  well  have  given  us  a  kiss  while 
he  was  about  it,"  we  thought.) 

"  We  want  tJie  time,  if  you  please,"  we  said 
at  length. 

"  What,  the  whole  of  it  ? "  said  the  old 
gentleman. 

"  No,"  answered  Billy,  "  we  only  want  the 
bit  of  it  that's  going  on  now." 

"  Which  bit  is  that  ? "  said  our  venerable 
friend. 

"That's  just  what  we  want  to  know," 
answered  Billy. 

This  fairly  floored  the  old  gentleman. 
"  You'll  be  a  great  Parliamentary  debater  one 
day,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  but  the  bit  of  time 
that's  going  on  now  is  not  an  easy  thing  to 
catch.     My  watch  can't  catch  it." 


THE   MAGIC   FORMULA  75 

"  Give  us  the  best  your  watch  can  do," 
answered  Billy. 

This  made  the  old  fellow  laugh  again. 
"  Better  and  better,"  said  he.  *'  Well,  the  best 
my  watch  can  do  is  a  quarter  past  twelve. 
And  that  reminds  me  that  you  two  young 
scamps  have  made  me  late  for  an  appointment. 
Now  be  good  boys,  both  of  you ;  and  don't 
forget  to  write  every  week  to  your  moth — to 
your  friends.  And  put  that  in  your  pockets." 
Whereupon  he  gave  each  of  us  half-a-sovereign. 

We  walked  on  in  silence,  not  pondering 
what  had  happened,  for  we  pondered  nothing 
in  those  days,  but  serenely  conscious  of  triumph. 
A  potent  secret  was  in  our  hands  and  the 
world  was  at  our  feet. 

"  It  worked,"  said  Billy  at  length. 

"  Rather  ! "  I  answered. 

"  It  did  him  good." 

"  Rather ! " 

"  We  beat  him." 

"  Rather ! " 

Presently  we  were  greeted  by  the  Park- 
keeper,  who  was  a  friend  of  ours. 


76  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

"  Well,  young  hopefuls,"  he  said,  "  and 
who  have  you  been  asking  the  time  of  to- 
day?" 

We  pointed  to  the  old  gentleman  whose 
figure  was  still  visible  in  the  distance. 

"  Him  !  "  cried  the  Park-keeper.  "  Well, 
bless  your  rascal  impudence !  Do  you  know 
who  he  is  ? " 

"No." 

"Why,  he's  Lord ." 

The  name  mentioned  was  that  of  a  dis- 
tinguished member  of  the  Cabinet  which  had 
recently  gone  out  of  office. 

Did  we  quail  and  cower  at  the  mention  of 
that  mighty  name  ?  Did  we  cover  ourselves 
with  confusion  ?     Not  we. 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  we  asked  him,"  said  Billy 
as  we  walked  away. 

"So  am  I — I  say,  Billy,  I  wish  we  could 
meet  the  Pope.  He's  jolly  old,  and  I'll  bet 
he's  jolly  miserable,  too." 

"  You  shut  up  about  his  being  miserable," 
answered  Billy,  who,  as  we  know,  was  a  Roman 
Catholic.     "  He  ain't  half  as  miserable  as  the 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  77 

Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  I  wish  we  could 
meet  him ! " 

"  Or  the  Emperor  of  Germany,"  I  suggested. 

"Yes,  he'd  do.  I'd  ask  him,  and  you  bet 
he'd  tell  us.  But " — and  here  Billy's  manner 
became  explosive — "  I'll  tell  you  what !  / 
wish  we  could  meet  God!  He's  a  jolly 
sight  older  than  the  Pope,  or  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  or  the  Emperor  of 
Germany.  I  believe  he'd  like  to  be  asked 
more  than  any  of  them.  And  I'd  ask  him 
like  a  shot ! " 

"  But  he's  not  miserable,"  I  interposed. 

"  How  do  you  know  he  isn't — sometimes  ? 
It  would  do  him  good  anyhow." 

I  was  getting  out  of  my  depth.  As  a 
speculator  1  had  none  of  the  boldness  which 
prompted  the  explosions  of  Billy,  and  an 
instinct  of  decency  suggested  a  change  of 
conversation. 

"What  shall  we  do  with  those  half- 
sovereigns  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Billy,  "  they'll  hear  you." 

"  Who'll  hear  me  ?  " 


78  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

*'  Never  mind  who.  They're  listening,  you 
bet.     Never  say  '  half-sovereigns '  again." 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do  with  them  ? " 

"  Keep  them.  Let's  put  a  cross  on  each  of 
them  at  once." 

So  we  took  out  the  coins,  and  with  our  pen- 
knives we  scratched  a  cross  on  the  cheek  of  her 
gracious  Majesty,  Queen  Victoria. 

Both  coins  are  now  in  my  possession.  The 
cross  on  the  cheek  of  Queen  Victoria  has 
worked  wonders.  It  has  brought  me  good  luck. 
In  return  I  have  hedged  the  coins  with  safe- 
guards both  moral  and  material.  AVhen  I  am 
gone  they  will  be But  I  am  anticipating. 

And  now  the  fever  was  in  full  possession  of 
our  souls.  I  believe  we  were  secretly  deter- 
mined to  bring  all  the  old  gentlemen  in  the 
world  under  the  sway  of  our  formula.  We 
were  beneficent  magicians.  Had  we  been 
older,  a  vast  prospect  of  social  regeneration 
would  have  opened  before  us.  But  all  we 
knew  at  the  time  was  that  we  possessed  a 
power  for  rejuvenating  the  aged.  An  ardent 
missionary  fervour  burned  in  our  bones ;  and 


THE   MAGIC   FORMULA  79 

we  were    swept    along    as   by   a   whirlwind. 
Never  was  infatuation  more  complete. 

As  a  preliminary  step  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  these  great  designs  we  resolved  to  ask 
ten  thousand  old  gentlemen  to  tell  us  the 
time.  Making  a  calculation,  we  reckoned  that, 
at  the  normal  rate  of  progress,  nine  years  would 
be  required  to  complete  the  task.  We  were  a 
little  disconcerted,  and,  in  order  to  expedite 
matters,  we  resolved  to  include  old  ladies,  and 
any  young  persons  of  either  sex  with  grey 
hair,  or  who,  in  our  opinion,  showed  other 
signs  of  prematurely  growing  old.  This  led 
on  to  further  extensions.  We  agreed,  first, 
that  anyone  who  looked  "miserable"  should 
have  the  benefit  of  our  formula ;  next,  that 
all  limitations  whatsoever,  save  one,  should 
be  withdrawn,  and  the  formula  allowed 
a  universal  application.  The  outstanding 
limitation  was  that  nobody  should  be  asked 
the  question  until  he  had  been  previously 
viewed  by  Billy,  who  was  a  psychologist,  and 
pronounced  by  him  to  be  *'the  right  sort." 
What  constituted  the  "  right  sort "  we  never 


80  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

succeeded  in  defining ;  enough  that  Billy  knew 
the  ''right  sort"  when  he  saw  it  and  never 
made  a  mistake.  We  believed  that  all  man- 
kind were  divided  into  two  classes,  the  sheep 
and  the  goats  ;  in  other  words,  those  who  were 
worthy  to  be  asked  the  time  and  those  who 
were  not,  and  Billy  was  the  infallible  judge 
for  separating  them  the  one  from  the  other. 
To  ask  the  question  of  any  person  was  to 
seal  that  person's  election  and  to  put  upon 
him  the  stamp  of  immortality. 

I  believed,  and  still  believe,  that  many  whom 
we  accosted  were  instantly  conscious  of  a 
change  for  the  better  in  their  general  condi- 
tions. Years  afterwards  I  met  a  man  who 
remembered  these  things  and  bore  testimony 
to  the  good  we  had  done  him.  "  It  so 
happened,"  said  he,  "that  just  before  I  met 
you  boys,  that  day,  I  had  been  speculating 
heavily  on  the  Stock  Exchange  and  had  had 
a  run  of  infernal  bad  luck.  But  the  moment 
that  little  chap  with  the  tilted  eyes  spoke  to 
me  I  said  to  myself,  '  The  clouds  are  breaking.' 
A^d,  by  George,  sir,  my  luck  turned  that  very 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  81 

day.  I  walked  straight  to  the  telegraph  office 
and  sent  my  broker  a  wire  which  netted  me  a 
matter  of  £7000." 

As  became  a  firm  of  businesslike  magicians, 
Billy  and  I  kept  books,  duly  averaged  and 
balanced,  entering  in  them  day  by  day  the 
names  of  the  persons  to  whom  we  had  applied 
the  formula.  Are  the  names  worthy  of  being 
recorded?  Perhaps  not.  But  a  few  specimens 
will  do  no  harm  and  may  incidentally  serve  to 
reveal  the  scope  and  catholicity  of  our  opera- 
tions. One  of  these  books  is  before  me  now, 
and  here  are  a  few  of  the  names,  culled 
almost  at  random  from  its  pages.  It  will  be 
observed  that  in  the^  last  group  our  faculty  of 
invention  gave  out  and  we  were  compelled  to 
plagiarise. 

Mr  Smoky,  Mr  Shinytopper,  Uncle  Jelly- 
bones,  Aunt  Ginger,  Lady  Peppermint,  Bishop 
Butter,  Canon  Sweaty,  Dirty  Boots,  Holy 
Toad,  Satan,  Old  Hurry,  Old  Bless-my-soul, 
Old  Chronometer,  Miss  No-watch,  Dr  Beard, 
Lord   Splutters,   Aurora,   Mrs   Proud,   Polly 

Sniggers,  Diamond  Pin,  Cigar,  Cuttyperoozte, 

6 


est  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

Jim,  Alfred  Dear !  Mr  Just-engaged,  Miss 
Ditto,  Mr  Catch-his-train,  Mr  Hot,  The 
Reverend  Hum,  The  Reverend  Ha-ha,  So- 
there-you-be,  Mrs  Robin,  Mr  High-mind,  Mr 
Love-lust,  Mr  Heady. 

II 

All  of  a  sudden,  and  in  the  most  unexpected 
manner,  these  vast  designs  of  ours  contracted 
their  dimensions,  or,  as  one  might  say,  our 
outlook  became  focussed  on  a  solitary  point. 
From  a  world-wide  mission  to  all  mankind 
we  narrowed  down  at  a  single  stroke  to  a 
concentrated  operation  on  a  strictly  limited 
class.  But  I  can  tell  you  that  what  our 
mission  lost  in  scope  it  gained  in  intensity. 
You  shall  hear  how  all  this  happened  and 
judge  for  yourself. 

One  night  Billy  and  I  were  lying  awake  as 
usual,  and  the  question  **  shall  we  talk  ?  "  had 
been  asked  and  duly  answered  in  the  affirma- 
tive. We  had  raised  ourselves  in  bed,  leaning 
toward  each  other,  and  the  telepathic  current 
was  running  strong. 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  83 

"  Billy,"  I  whispered,  "  I've  got  a  ripping 
notion,  a  regular  stunner.  I'm  bursting  to 
tell  you." 

"  What  is  it  ? " 

"  Put  your  ear  a  little  closer,  Billy,  and 
listen  like  mad.  Suppose  you  were  to  meet  a 
beautiful  woman — what  would  you  do  ? " 

Quick  as  thought  came  the  answer — *'  I 
should  ask  her  to  tell  me  the  time." 

"  Why,  that's  exactly  what  /  should  do. 
We'll  do  it,  the  very  next  time  we  meet  one. 
And,  Billy,  I'm  sure  we  shall  meet  one  soon" 

"  So  am  I." 

Next  day,  the  instant  we  were  freed  from 
school  we  bolted  for  the  Park,  exalted  in  spirit 
and  full  of  resolution.  A  lovely  Presence 
floated  in  the  light  above  us  and  accompanied 
us  as  we  ran.  Arrived  in  the  Park,  we  seemed 
to  have  reached  the  threshold  of  a  new  world. 
We  stood  on  a  peak  in  Darien  ;  and  before  us 
there  shimmered  an  enchanted  sea  lit  by  the 
softest  of  lights  and  tinted  with  the  fairest  of 
colours.  Forces  as  old  as  the  earth  and  as 
young   as  the  dawn  were  stirring  within  us ; 


84  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

the  breath  of  spring  was  in  our  souls,  and  a 
vision  of  living  beauty,  seen  only  in  the 
faintest  of  glimpses,  lured  us  on. 

Think  not  that  we  lacked  discrimination. 
*'  Let's  wait,  Billy,"  I  said,  as  he  made  a  dart 
forward  at  a  girl  in  a  white  frock,  "till  we 
find  one  beautiful  enough.  That  one  won't 
do.     Look  at  the  size  of  her  feet." 

"  Whackers ! "  said  he,  checking  himself. 
And  then  he  made  a  remark  which  I  have 
often  thought  was  the  strangest  thing  Billy 
ever  uttered.  "  I  wouldn't  be  surprised," 
came  the  solemn  whisper,  ''if  her  feet  were 
made  of  clay.'' 

So  day  by  day  we  ranged  the  Park,  some- 
times together,  sometimes  separate,  possessed 
of  one  thought  only — that  of  a  woman  beauti- 
ful enough  to  be  asked  the  time.  Hundreds  of 
faces — and  forms — were  examined,  sometimes 
to  the  surprise  of  their  owners ;  but  the  more 
we  examined,  the  more  inexorable,  the  more 
difficult  to  satisfy,  became  our  ideal.  At  each 
fresh  contact  with  reality  it  rose  higher  and 
outran  the  facts  of  life,  until  we  were  on  the 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  85 

point  of  concluding  that  the  world  contained 
no  woman  beautiful  enough  to  be  asked  the 
time.  Never  were  women  stared  at  with 
greater  innocence  of  heart,  but  never  were 
they  judged  by  a  more  fastidious  taste.  And 
yet  we  had  no  definable  criterion.  Of  each 
new  specimen  examined  all  we  could  say  was, 
"  That  one  won't  do."  But  why  she  wouldn't 
do  we  didn't  know.  We  never  disagreed. 
What  wouldn't  do  for  Billy  wouldn't  do  for 
me,  and  vice  versa. 

Once  we  met  a  charming  little  girl  about 
our  own  age,  walking  all  alone.  "  That's  the 
one  ! "  cried  I.     "  Come  on,  Billy." 

I  started  forward,  Billy  close  behind. 
Presently  he  clutched  my  jacket,  "  Stop  ! "  he 
said,  "  What  if  she  has  no  watch  ?  " 

The  little  girl  was  running  away. 

"  We've  frightened  her,"  said  Billy,  who 
was  a  little  gentleman.     "We're  two  beasts." 

"  She  heard  what  you  said  about  the  watch," 
I  answered,  "  and  thought  we  wanted  to  steal 
it.  She  had  one  after  all.  Billy,  we've  lost 
our  chance." 


86  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

As  we  went  home  that  day,  something 
gnawed  cruelly  at  our  hearts.  Things  had  gone 
wrong.  An  ideal  world  had  been  on  the  point 
of  realisation,  and  a  freak  of  contingency  had 
spoiled  it.  In  another  moment  "  time  "  would 
have  been  revealed  to  us  by  one  worthy  to 
make  the  revelation.  But  the  sudden  thought 
of  a  watch  had  ruined  all.  Once  more  we  had 
tasted  the  tragic  quality  of  life. 

With  ardour  damped  but  not  extinguished, 
we  continued  the  quest  day  after  day.  But 
we  were  now  half-hearted  and  we  became 
aware  of  a  strange  falling-off  in  the  beauty  of 
the  ladies  who  frequented  the  Park. 

"  We  shall  never  find  her  here,"  said  Billy. 
*'  Let's  try  the  walk  down  by  the  river.  They 
are  better-looking  down  there,  especially  on 
Sunday  afternoon.  And  I'll  bet  you  most  of 
them  have  watches." 

The  very  day  on  which  Billy  made  this 
proposal  another  nasty  thing  happened  to  us. 
We  were  summoned  into  the  Headmaster's 
study  and  informed  that  complaints  had 
reached  him  concerning  two  boys  who  were 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  87 

in  the  habit  of  walking  about  in  the  Park  and 
staring  in  the  rudest  manner  at  the  young 
ladies,  and  making  audible  remarks  about 
their  personal  appearance.  Were  we  the 
culprits  ?  We  confessed  that  we  were.  What 
did  we  mean  by  it  ?  We  were  silent :  not  for 
a  whole  Archipelago  packed  full  of  buried 
treasure  would  we  have  answered  that  question. 
Did  we  consider  it  conduct  worthy  of  gentle- 
men? We  said  we  did  not,  though  as  a 
matter  of  fact  we  did.  Dark  hints  of  flagi- 
tiousness  were  thrown  out,  which  our  innocence 
wholly  failed  to  comprehend.  The  foolish 
man  then  gave  himself  away  by  telling  us 
that  whenever  we  met  Miss  Overbury's  school 
on  their  daily  promenade  we  were  to  walk  on 
the  other  side  of  the  road. 

Billy  and  I  exchanged  meaning  glances : 
we  knew  now  who  had  complained  (as  though 
we  would  ever  think  of  asking  them  to  tell  us 
the  time  !).  Finally  we  were  forbidden,  under 
threat  of  corporal  chastisement,  to  enter  the 
Park  under  any  pretexts  or  circumstances 
whatsoever. 


88  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"  The  old  spouter  doesn't  know,"  said  I  to 
Billy  as  we  left  the  room,  "  that  we've  already 
made  up  our  minds  not  to  go  there  again. 
What  a  '  suck-in '  for  him  ! " 

Necessity  having  thus  combined  with  choice, 
the  scene  of  our  quest  was  now  definitely 
shifted  to  the  river-bank,  where  a  broad  wind- 
ing path,  with  seats  at  intervals,  ran  under  the 
willows.  Here  a  new  order  of  beauty  seemed 
to  present  itself,  and  our  hopes  ran  high. 
Several  promising  candidates  presented  them- 
selves at  once.  One,  I  remember,  wore  a 
scarlet  feather;  another  carried  a  gray  muff. 
The  scarlet  feather  was  my  fancy;  the  gray 
muff  Billy's. 

I  think  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  our  third 
visit  to  the  river  that  the  crisis  came.  We 
sat  down  on  the  bank  and  held  a  long  con- 
sultation. "  Well,"  said  Billy  at  last,  "  I'm 
willing  to  ask  Scarlet  Feather.  She's  ripping. 
Her  nose  takes  the  cake ;  but,  mind  you,  Gray 
Muff  has  the  prettier  boots.  And  I  know 
Scarlet  Feather  has  a  watch — I  saw  the  chain 
when  we  passed   her  just  now.     But  before 


THE   MAGIC   FORMULA  89 

deciding  I'm  going  to  have  another  look  at 
Gray  MufF.  She's  just  round  the  bend.  You 
wait  here — I'll  be  back  in  half  a  second." 

I  was  left  alone,  and  for  some  minutes  I 
continued  to  gaze  at  the  flowing  stream  in 
front  of  me.  Suddenly  I  saw,  dancing  about 
on  the  surface  of  the  water — but  doubtless 
the  whole  thing  was  hallucination  !  My  nerves 
were  in  high  tension  at  the  moment,  and  in 
those  days  I  could  have  dreams  without  going 
to  sleep. 

The  dream  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
return  of  Billy.  He  was  white  as  the  table- 
cloth and  trembling  all  over. 

"  Come  on  I "  he  gasped.  "I've  found  the 
very  one !     Quick,  quick,  or  she'll  be  gone  !  " 

"  Is  it  Gray  MufF?"  I  asked. 

*'  No,  no.  It's  another.  The  Very  One,  I 
tell  you.     The  One  we've  been  looking  for." 

"  Billy,"  I  said,  "  I've  just  seen  a  Good 
One  too.  She  was  dancing  about  on  the 
water." 

"  Oh,  rot ! "  cried  Billy.  "  Mine's  the  One ! 
Come  on,  I  say  I     I'm  certain  she  won't  wait. 


90  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

She  looked  as  though  she  wouldn't  sit  still  for 
a  single  minute." 

"  What  is  she  like,  Billy  ? "  I  asked  as  we 
hurried  away. 

"She's — oA,  sJies  the  exact  linage  of  my 
mater ! "  he  said. 

Billy's  mater  had  died  about  a  year  ago. 
At  the  age  of  twelve  1  had  been  deeply  in 
love  with  her,  and  to  this  hour  her  image 
remains  with  me  as  the  type  of  all  that  is  most 
lovely  and  commendable  in  woman.  O  Billy's 
mater,  will  these  eyes  ever  see  you  again  ? 
How  glad  I  am  to  remember  you !  I  know 
where  you  lie  buried,  but  I  doubt  if  there  lives 
another  soul  who  could  find  your  resting-place. 
Harshly  were  you  judged  and  conveniently 
were  you  forgotten  !  But  I  will  scatter  lilies 
on  your  grave  this  very  night. 

Well,  we  ran  with  all  our  might.  Scarlet 
Feather,  Gray  MufF,  and  the  dancing  "good 
one"  on  the  surface  of  the  water  were  clean 
forgotten  as  if  they  had  never  existed — as  per- 
haps one  of  them  never  did.  "  Just  like  my 
mater  ! "  Billy  kept  gasping.     "  Hurry  up  !  I 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  91 

tell  you  she  won't  wait !  She's  on  the  seat 
watching  the  water ;  no,  not  that  seat.  It's 
round  the  next  bend  but  one." 

We  turned  the  bend  and  came  in  sight  of 
the  seat  where  Billy  had  seen  what  he  saw. 
The  seat  was  empty.  We  looked  round  us : 
not  a  soul  was  in  sight.  We  checked  our 
pace  and  in  utter  silence,  and  very  slowly, 
crept  up  to  the  empty  seat,  gazing  round  us 
as  we  walked.  Was  there  ever  such  a  melan- 
choly walk !  Oh,  what  a  Via  Dolorosa  we 
found  it !  Arrived  at  the  seat,  Billy  felt  it  all 
over  with  his  hands  and,  finding  nothing,  flung 
himself  face  downwards  on  the  turf  and  uttered 
the  most  lamentable  cry  I  have  ever  heard. 

"  I  knew  she  wouldn't  wait,"  he  moaned. 
*'  Oh,  why  weren't  we  quicker  !  Oh,  why  didn't 
I  ask  her  the  time  the  minute  I  saw  her ! " 

As,  shattered  and  silent,  we  crawled  back  to 
school,  continually  loitering  to  gaze  at  a  world 
that  was  all  hateful,  I  realised  with  a  feeling 
of  awe  that  I  had  become  privy  to  something 
deep  in  Billy's  soul.  And  I  inwardly  resolved 
that,  so  far  as  I  could,  I  would  set  the  matter 


92  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

right,  and  put  friendship  on  a  footing  of  true 
equality,  by  teUing  Billy  the  deepest  secret  of 
mine. 

"  Billy,"  I  said,  as  we  lay  wakeful  in  the 
small  hours  of  the  next  morning,  "  come  and 
stay  with  us  next  holidays,  and  I  will  show  you 
something." 

"  What  is  it  ? " 

"  You  wait  and  see." 

The  great  adventure  was  over.  It  had  ended 
in  disaster  and  tears.  Never  again  did  Billy 
and  I  ask  any  human  being  to  tell  us  the  time. 

Ill 

In  those  days  I  was  a  great  metaphysician. 
Unassisted  by  any  philosopher,  ancient  or 
modern,  I  had  made  a  discovery  in  the  meta- 
physical line.     This  discovery  was  my  secret. 

In  the  church-tower  of  the  village  where  I 
was  nurtured  there  was  an  ancient  and  curious 
clock,  said  to  have  been  brought  from  Spain 
by  a  former  owner  of  the  parish.  This  clock 
was  worked  by  an  enormous  pendulum  which 
hung  down,  through  a  slit  in  the  ceiling,  into 


THE  MAGIC  FORMULA  98 

the  body  of  the  church,  swinging  to  and  fro  at 
the  west  end  of  the  nave.  Its  motion  was  even 
and  beautiful ;  and  the  sight  of  it  fascinated 
me  continually  through  the  hours  of  divine 
service.  To  those  who  were  not  attentive, 
the  pendulum  was  inaudible ;  but  if  you 
listened  you  could  detect  a  gentle  tick,  tock, 
between  the  pauses  of  the  hymns  or  the 
parson's  voice.  "  Let  us  pray,"  said  the 
parson.  "  Tick,"  whispered  the  pendulum. 
"We  beseech  Thee — "  cried  the  clerk, 
(tick!); — "to  hear  us,  good  Lord"  (tock!). 
The  clerk  had  unconsciously  fallen  into  the 
habit  of  timing  his  cadence  in  the  responses 
to  correspond  with  these  whispers  of  the 
pendulum.  For  my  part,  I  used  to  think 
that  this  correspondence  was  the  most  beauti- 
ful arrangement  in  the  universe.  I  loved  the 
even  motion  of  the  pendulum  ;  but  I  loved  the 
faithful  whispers  more.  To  this  day  I  have 
only  to  shut  my  eyes  on  entering  a  village 
church,  and  sit  still  for  half  a  minute,  and  sure 
enough,  stealing  through  the  silence,  comes  the 
"  tick,  tock  "  of  that  ancient  pendulum. 


94  ALL   MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

Of  all  the  religious  instruction  I  received 
during  the  eight  or  nine  years  we  attended 
that  church  I  confess  1  have  not  the  faintest 
recollection.  I  cannot  remember  whether  the 
sermons  were  good  or  bad,  long  or  short,  high, 
low,  or  broad.  I  know  they  never  wearied 
me,  for  1  never  listened  to  a  word  that  was 
said.  The  pendulum  saw  to  that.  There 
were  two  parsons  in  our  time.  The  first,  I 
have  heard,  was  a  very  good  man,  but  by  no 
effort  of  memory  can  I  recall  what  he  was  like. 
The  second  I  do  remember,  and  could  draw 
his  face  on  this  sheet  of  paper,  were  I  to  try. 
I  respected  and  admired  him,  not,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  for  the  purity  of  his  life  or  his  faithful- 
ness in  preaching  the  Gospel,  but  because  he 
had  fought  and  licked  our  gardener,  whom  I 
detested,  outside  the  village  Pub.  With  a 
little  concentration  of  mind  I  can  reconstruct 
the  scene  in  church  during  this  parson's  tenure 
of  office.  I  can  see  the  rascal  eminent  in  his 
pulpit,  plodding  through  his  task.  I  can  hear 
the  thud  of  the  hymn-book  which  my  father 
used  to  toss  into  the   clerk's  pew  when  he 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  95 

thought  the  sermon  had  lasted  long  enough : 
immediately  the  sermon  stops  and  a  great 
bull-voice  roars  out,  "Now  to  God  the 
Father,"  and  so  on.  But  all  such  incidents  are 
as  a  fringe  to  the  main  theme  of  my  memory 
— the  restless  curve  of  the  swinging  disc,  and 
the  whispered  syllables  of  Time. 

The  question  that  haunted  me  was  this : 
Did  the  pendulum  stop  on  reaching  the  highest 
point  of  the  ascending  arc  ?  Did  it  pause 
before  beginning  the  descent  ?  And  if  it 
stopped,  did  time  stop  with  it?  1  answered 
both  questions  in  the  affirmative.  Well,  then, 
what  was  a  second  ?  Did  the  stoppage  at  the 
end  of  the  swing  make  the  second,  or  was  the 
second  made  by  the  swing,  the  movement 
between  the  two  points  of  rest  ?  I  concluded 
that  it  was  the  stoppage.  For,  mark  you,  it 
takes  a  second  for  the  pendulum  to  reach  the 
stopping  point  on  either  side  ;  therefore  there 
can  be  no  second  till  that  point  is  reached ; 
the  second  must  wait  for  the  stoppage  to  do 
the  business.  I  saw  no  other  way  of  getting 
any  seconds.     And  if  no  seconds,  no  minutes  ; 


96  AIX  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

and  if  no   minutes,  no  hours,  no  days,  and 
therefore  no  time  at  all — which  is  absurd. 

1  found  great  peace  in  this  conclusion ;  but 
none  the  less  I  continued  to  support  it  by 
collateral  reasonings,  and  by  observation.  In 
particular  I  determined,  for  reasons  of  my 
own,  to  make  a  careful  survey  of  the  hands  of 
the  clock.  With  this  object  I  borrowed  my 
father's  field-glass,  and,  retiring  to  a  convenient 
point  of  observation,  focussed  it  on  the  clock- 
face.  Instantly  a  startling  phenomenon  sprang 
into  view.  I  saw  that  the  big  hand  of  the 
clock,  instead  of  moving  evenly  as  it  seemed 
to  do  when  viewed  by  the  naked  eye,  was 
visibly  jerking  on  its  way,  in  time  with  the 
seconds  that  were  being  ticked  off  by  the 
pendulum  inside.  By  George,  the  hand  was 
going  jerk,  jerk !  The  pendulum  and  the 
hand  were  moving  together!  Jerk  went  the 
hand :  then  a  pause.  What's  happening  now  ? 
thought  I.  Why  the  pendulum  has  just 
ticked  and  is  going  to  tock.  Tock  it  goes  and 
— there  you  are ! — jerk  goes  the  hand  again. 
"  Why,  of  course,"  I   said  to  myself,  "  that 


THE  MAGIC  FORMULA  97 

proves  it.  The  hand  stops,  as  well  as  the 
pendulum.  The  evidence  of  the  hand  corrob- 
orates the  evidence  of  the  pendulum.  The 
seconds  must  be  the  stoppages.  They  can't  be 
anything  else.  There's  nothing  else  for  them 
to  be.  I'll  tell  Billy  Burst  this  very  day ! 
But  no,  I  won't.  I'll  wait  till  the  holidays 
and  show  it  him." 

Such  was  the  secret  which  I  resolved  to 
impart  to  Billy  in  return  for  what  he  had 
disclosed  to  me. 

Some  months  after  this  amazing  discovery 
Billy  came  down  for  the  holidays.  He 
arrived  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  could 
hardly  restrain  my  impatience  while  he  was 
having  his  tea.  Hardly  had  he  swallowed 
the  last  mouthful  when  I  had  him  by  the 
jacket.  "  Come  on,  Billy,"  I  cried.  "  I'm 
going  to  show  you  something" — and  we  ran 
together  to  the  church.  Arrived  there,  I 
placed  him  in  front  of  the  pendulum,  which 
seemed  to  be  swinging  that  afternoon  with 
an  even  friendlier  motion  than  usual. 

"  There  I "  I  said,  "  look  at  him." 


98  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

Billy  stood  spell- bound.  Oh,  you  should 
have  seen  his  face !  You  should  have  seen 
his  eyes  slowly  moving  their  lambent  lights 
as  they  followed  the  rhythm  of  the  pendulum 
from  side  to  side.  If  Billy  was  hypnotised  by 
the  pendulum,  I  was  hypnotised  by  Billy. 
Suddenly  he  clutched  my  arm  in  his  wonted 
way. 

"  I  say,"  he  whispered,  "  it  knows  us.  Here, 
old  chap "  (addressing  the  pendulum),  "  you 
know  us,  don't  you  ?  You're  glad  to  see  us, 
aren't  you  ? " 

*'  Tick,  tock,"  said  the  pendulum. 

"  Can't  he  talk— just ! "  said  Billy.  "  Look 
at  his  eye !  He  winked  at  me  that  time,  I'll 
swear."  And,  by  the  Powers,  the  very  next 
time  the  pendulum  reached  the  top  of  the 
arc  I  saw  the  crumpled  metal  in  the  middle  of 
the  disc  double  itself  up  and  wink  at  7fie  also, 
plain  as  plain. 

"  Billy,"  I  said,  "  if  we  stare  at  him  much 
longer  we  shall  both  go  cracked.  Let's  go 
into  the  churchyard.  I've  something  else  to 
show  you." 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  99 

So  to  the  churchyard  we  went,  and  there, 
among  the  mouldering  tombstones,  I  ex- 
pounded to  Billy  my  new  theory  as  to  the 
nature  of  Time,  reserving  the  crowning  evi- 
dence until  Billy  had  grasped  the  main 
principle. 

"So  you  see,"  I  concluded,  *'the  seconds 
are  the  stoppages." 

"  There  aren't  any  stoppages,"  said  he. 
"  Pendulums  don't  stop." 

*'  How  can  they  go  down  after  coming  up 
unless  they  stop  between  ? "  1  asked. 

"  Wait  till  you  get  to  the  Higher  Mathe- 
matics." 

"  Then  where  do  the  seconds  come  in  ? " 

"  They  don't  come  in :  they  are  in  all 
along." 

"  Then,"  I  said  triumphantly,  "  look  at  that 
clock  face.  Can't  you  see  how  the  big  hand 
goes  jerk,  jerk  ? " 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

"  What  of  that  ?  Why,  if  the  seconds  aren't 
the  stoppages,  what  becomes  of  time  between 
the  jerks  ? " 


100  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"  Why,"  answered  Billy,  "  ifs  plugging 
ahead  all  the  time." 

"  All  what  time  ? "  I  countered,  convinced 
now  that  I  had  him  in  a  vicious  circle. 

"Blockhead!"  cried  Billy.  "Don't  you 
remember  what  that  old  Johnny  told  us  in 
the  Park?  There's  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  between  the  time  and  time  J' 

"I'll  bet  you  can't  tell  me  what  the  differ- 
ence is." 

"  Yes,  I  can.  It's  the  difference  between 
the  pendulum  and  the  clock-hand.  Look  at 
the  jerking  old  idiot  I  That  thing  can't  talk  ; 
that  thing  can't  wink  ;  that  thing  doesn't  know 
us.  Why,  you  silly,  it  only  does  what  the 
pendulum  tells  it  to  do.  The  pendulum  knows 
what  it's  doing.  But  that  thing  doesn't. 
Here,  let's  go  back  into  the  church  and  have 
another  talk  with  the  jolly  old  chap  ! " 

Ten  years  later  when  Billy,  barely  twenty- 
three,  had  half  finished  a  book  which  would 
have  made  him  famous,  I  handed  him  an  essay 
by  a  distinguished  philosopher,  and  requested 


THE   MAGIC  FORMULA  101 

him  to  read  it.  The  title  was  "  On  translating 
Time  into  Eternity."  When  Billy  returned  it, 
I  asked  him  how  he  had  fared.  "Oh,"  he 
answered,  "  I  translated  time  into  eternity 
without  much  difficulty.  But  it  was  plugging 
ahead  all  the  time." 

Shortly  after  that,  Billy  rejoined  his  mater 
— a  victim  to  the  same  disease.  Poor  Billy ! 
You  brought  luck  to  others  ;  God  knows  you 
had  little  yourself.  He  died  in  a  hospital, 
without  kith  or  kin  to  close  his  eyes.  The 
Sister  who  attended  him  brought  me  a  small 
purse  which  she  said  Billy  had  very  urgently 
requested  her  to  give  me.  On  opening  the 
purse  I  found  in  it  a  gold  coin,  marked  with 
a  cross.  The  nurse  also  told  me  that  an  hour 
before  he  died  Billy  sat  up  suddenly  in  his 
bed  and,  opening  his  eyes  very  wide,  said  in  a 
singing  voice : 

"  If  you  please,  Sir,  would  you  mind  telling 
me  the  time  ? " 


ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 


DR  PIECRAFT  BECOMES  CONFUSED 

" '  To  be  or  not  to  be — that  is  the  question,'  said  Hamlet : 
'  To  be  is  not  to  be — that  is  the  answer,'  said  Hegel." 

Dr  Phippeny  Piecraft  invented  this  couplet 
one  night  for  his  own  edification,  as,  inert  in 
body  and  despondent  in  mind,  he  lay  back  in 
the  arm-chair  of  his  consulting-room.  "  There 
is  more  point,"  he  went  on,  "in  Hamlet's 
*  question'  than  in  Hegel's  'answer.'  But 
the  gospel  is  not  in  either.  Both  •  are  futile 
as  physic.  At  all  events,  neither  of  them 
brings  any  consolation  to  me." 

Dr  Piecraft  was  reflecting  on  the  hardness 
of  his  lot.  Ten  years  had  elapsed  since  he 
first  mounted  his  brass  plate,  and  he  was  still 
virtually  without  a  practice.     He  earned  just 


DR   PIECRAFT  BECOMES   CONFUSED     103 

enough  from  casual  patients  to  pay  his  rent 
and  keep  body  and  soul  together.  To  be  sure, 
his  father  had  left  him  a  hundred  a  year ;  but 
Piecraft  had  given  the  old  man  a  promise 
"that  he  would  look  after  Jim."  Now  Jim 
was  a  half-brother,  many  years  younger  than 
himself;  and  he  was  also  the  one  being 
in  the  world  whom  Piecraft  loved  with  an 
undivided  heart.  So  the  whole  of  his  income 
from  that  source  was  ear-marked  for  the  boy's 
education;  not  for  worlds  would  the  doctor 
have  spent  a  penny  of  it  on  himself.  He  even 
denied  himself  cigars,  of  which  he  was  exceed- 
ingly fond,  restricting  himself  to  the  cheapest 
of  tobacco,  in  order  that  Jim  might  have  plenty 
of  pocket-money  ;  and  whenever  the  question 
arose  as  to  who  was  to  have  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,  Jim  or  the  doctor,  it  was  always  Jim 
who  went  smart  and  the  doctor  who  went 
shabby. 

He  was  over  forty  years  of  age,  and,  in  his 
own  eyes,  a  failure.  Yet  no  man  could  have 
done  more  to  deserve  success.  His  medical 
qualifications  were  of  the  widest  and  highest ; 


104  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

diplomas  of  all  sorts  covered  the  walls  of  his 
consulting-room  ;  a  gold  medal  for  cerebral 
pathology  lay  in  a  glass  case  on  his  writing- 
table.  He  was  actively  abreast  of  advanc- 
ing medical  science  ;  he  had  run  into  debt  that 
he  might  keep  himself  supplied  with  the  best 
literature  of  his  profession,  and  he  was  prepared 
at  a  moment's  notice  to  treat  a  difficult  case 
in  the  light  of  the  latest  discoveries  at  Paris, 
St  Petersburg,  or  New  York.  Moreover,  he 
had  led  a  clean  life,  and  was  known  among 
his  friends  as  a  man  of  irreproachable  honour. 
But  somehow  the  patients  seemed  to  avoid 
him,  and  only  once  in  two  years  had  he  been 
summoned  to  a  consultation. 

To  account  for  Piecraft's  failure  as  a  medical 
man  several  theories  were  in  circulation,  and 
it  is  probable  that  each  of  them  contained  an 
element  of  truth.  Some  persons  would  set 
it  down  to  the  shabbiness  of  his  appearance, 
or  to  the  brusqueness  of  his  manners,  or  to 
the  fact  that  his  consulting-room  often  reeked 
with  the  fumes  of  cheap  tobacco.  Others 
would   say  that  Piecraft  was  constitutionally 


DR   PIECRAFT  BECOMES   CONFUSED     105 

unable  to  practise  those  "intelligent  hesita- 
tions" so  often  needed  in  the  application  of 
medical  principles.  They  would  remind  you 
of  his  fatal  tendency  to  determine  diagnosis 
on  a  sudden  impulse,  which  Piecraft  called 
*'  psychological  intuition,"  and  in  illustration 
of  this  they  would  tell  you  a  story  :  how  once, 
when  the  vicar's  wife  had  brought  her  petted 
daughter  to  be  treated  for  hysteria,  the  fit 
happening  to  come  on  in  the  consulting-room, 
Piecraft  had  cured  the  young  lady  on  the  spot 
by  soundly  boxing  her  ears.  Concerning  this 
incident  he  had  been  taken  severely  to  task  by 
an  intimate  friend  of  his,  an  old  practitioner  of 
standing.  "  It  will  be  time  enough  to  adopt 
those  methods  of  treatment,"  the  friend  had 
said  to  him,  "when  you  are  earning  five 
thousand  a  year.  At  the  present  stage  of 
your  career  it  is  almost  fatal.  Learn  so  to 
treat  a  patient  that  the  story  of  the  cure 
when  subsequently  related  after  dinner  may 
have  the  characteristics  of  High  Tragedy,  or 
at  all  events  may  reflect  some  credit  on  the 
sufferer.     Help  him  to  create  a  drama,  and 


106  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

see  to  it  that  he  comes  out  ultimately  as  its 
hero.  Don't  you  see  that  in  the  present  in- 
stance you  have  spoilt  a  moving  story,  than 
which  nothing  gives  greater  offence,  turning 
the  whole  situation  into  Low  Comedy  and 
making  the  patient  a  laughing-stock  ?  People 
will  never  stand  that,  Piecraft.  It  is  idle  to 
insist  that  the  cure  was  efficacious  and  per- 
manent. So  no  doubt  it  was.  A  better 
remedy  for  that  type  of  hysteria  could  not 
be  devised.  But  reflect  on  the  fact  that  you 
have  deprived  the  vicar's  family  of  a  legiti- 
mate opportunity  for  dramatic  expression  and 
dethroned  the  vicar's  daughter  from  her  place 
as  heroine.  In  short,  you  have  committed  an 
outrage  on  the  artistic  rights  of  medicine,  and, 
mark  my  words,  you  will  have  to  pay  for  it. 
Always  remember,  Piecraft,  that  in  medicine, 
as  in  many  other  things,  it  is  not  the  act  alone 
which  ensures  success,  but  the  gesture  with 
which  the  act  is  accompanied." 

Moreover,  Piecraft  held  a  theory  which  he 
never  took  the  least  pains  to  conceal,  though 
it  was   extremely  provoking  to  his  patients 


DR   PIECRAFT   BECOMES   CONFUSED     107 

both  rich  and  poor.  His  theory  was  that 
more  than  half  the  ailments  of  the  human 
body  are  best  treated  by  leaving  them  alone. 
For  example,  a  certain  old  gentleman  having 
consulted  him  about  some  senile  malady,  the 
doctor  had  dismissed  him  w^ith  the  follovidng 
remark  :  "  My  dear  sir,  the  best  remedy  for  the 
troubles  of  old  age  is  to  grow  still  older.  The 
matter  is  in  your  own  hands."  Many  such- 
like epigrams  were  reported  of  him,  and  often 
they  constituted  the  sole  return  which  the 
patients  received  for  the  two  guineas  deposited 
on  the  table  of  the  consulting-room.  Obviously 
this  kind  of  thing  could  not  go  on.  As  most 
of  his  patients  consulted  Piecraft  because  they 
wished  to  be  extensively  interfered  with,  and 
objected  to  nothing  so  much  as  being  left 
alone,  with  or  without  an  epigram  to  console 
them,  it  followed  of  course  that  they  seldom 
consulted  him  a  second  time. 

But  beneath  these  peripheral  causes  of 
irritation  there  lay  a  deeper  offence.  The 
truth  is  that  Piecraft  had  made  himself  highly 
obnoxious  to  the  members  of  his  own  profes- 


108  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

sion,  and  had  acquired — though  1  doubt  if  he 
fully  deserved  it — the  reputation  of  a  traitor. 
"  Futile  as  physic  "  was  a  phrase  constantly  on 
his  lips ;  and  the  words,  offensive  as  they 
were,  were  only  the  foam  that  broke  forth 
from  the  deeper  waters  of  his  treachery.  He 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  embark  on  a  propaganda 
for  what  he  called  "the  Simplification  of 
Medical  Practice,"  publicly  proposing  that  a 
Society  should  be  founded  for  that  object ;  and 
in  pursuance  of  this  proposal  he  had  published 
a  series  of  articles  in  which  he  had  argued 
that  the  healing  art  is  still  dominated  by  the 
spirit  of  Magic  and  encumbered  with  a  mass 
of  dogmatic  assumptions  and  superstitious  ob- 
servances. "  The  Seat  of  Authority  in  Thera- 
peutics," "  Medicine  without  Priest  and  with- 
out Ritual,"  "  Big  Words  and  Little  Bottles," 
were  the  titles  of  some  of  these  abominable 
essays.  The  last-named  especially  had  aroused 
great  indignation,  not  only  by  the  excessively 
vehement  language  in  which  Piecraft  pleaded 
for  *'  simple  and  rational "  principles,  but  far 
more   by   a   caustic    parallel    he    had    drawn 


DR  PIECRAFT   BECOMES  CONFUSED     109 

between  the  doings  of  a  successful  London 
practitioner  and  the  ritual  of  a  medicine-man 
among  the  Australian  aborigines.  The  offence 
went  deep,  and  the  matter  became  the  more 
serious  for  Piecraft  because  the  indignation 
extended  from  the  doctors  to  the  theologians, 
who  suspected — though  the  suspicion  was 
utterly  unfounded — that  under  the  cover  of  an 
attack  on  orthodox  medicine  he  was  really 
engaged  in  putting  a  knife,  from  the  back, 
into  official  religion ;  a  suspicion  which  de- 
prived the  unfortunate  doctor  of  every  one  of 
his  clerical  patients,  including  their  wives  and 
daughters,  at  a  single  stroke. 

The  combined  effect  of  all  these  causes  was, 
of  course,  disastrous.  If,  for  example,  you 
happened  to  be  suffisring  from  a  severe  pain 
in  the  head — le  mal  des  beaux  esprits — which 
your  family  doctor  had  failed  to  cure,  and 
suggested  to  the  latter  that  Piecraft,  as  a 
distinguished  cerebral  pathologist,  should  be 
summoned  to  a  consultation,  you  were  pretty 
certain  to  be  met  with  this  rejoinder  :  '*  Yes, 
Piecraft  has  beyond  all  question  an  unrivalled 


110  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

knowledge  of  the  human  brain.  But  please 
understand  that  if  you  call  him  in  I  shall  have 
to  retire  from  the  case."  And  if  you  pressed 
for  further  explanation  you  would  at  first  be 
put  off  with  airs  of  mystery  which  would 
gradually  consolidate  into  some  such  state- 
ment as  this  :  "  Well,  in  the  profession  we  don't 
regard  Piecraft  as  a  medical  man  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  term.  He  is  really  a  literary  man 
who  has  mistaken  his  vocation";  or,  "Nature 
intended  Piecraft  for  a  popular  agitator  " ;  or, 
"  Piecraft 's  forte  is  journalism  " ;  or,  '*  Piecraft's 
title  of  'doctor'  should  always  be  written  in 
inverted  commas  " ;  or,  "  Piecraft  is  trying  to 
live  in  two  worlds,  the  world  of  imagination 
and  the  world  of  pure  science ;  he  will  come 
to  grief  in  both  of  them."  And  once  the 
prophetic  remark  was  made :  "  Piecraft's  proper 
role  is  that  of  a  character  in  the  Arabian 
Nights."  I  have  been  told,  too,  that  one  day 
the  Senior  Physician  of  the  hospital  where 
Piecraft  held  a  minor  appointment  overheard 
him  muttering  his  favourite  phrase  by  the 
bedside  of  a  patient,  "  Futile  as  physic  I  futile 


DR   PIECRAFT   BECOMES  CONFUSED     111 

as  physic  ! "  Whereupon  the  Senior  Physician 
stepped  up  to  him  and,  laying  his  hand  on 
his  shoulder  in  the  kindest  possible  manner, 
whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Resign,  Piecraft ; 
resign ! " 

Dr  Phippeny  Piecraft  had  no  belief  in  the 
immortality  of  the  soul :  his  studies  in  cerebral 
pathology  had  disposed  of  that  question  long 
ago.  "  What  a  philosopher  most  requires," 
he  used  to  reflect,  "  is  not  so  much  a  big  brain 
of  his  own  as  a  little  knowledge  of  the  brains 
of  other  people.  Hamlet,  for  example,  if  he 
had  studied  Yorick's  brain  instead  of  senti- 
mentalising over  his  skull,  might  have  framed 
his  question  differently.  And  as  to  Hegel — 
well,  that  thing  knocked  all  the  Hegelism  out 
of  me,"  and  he  glanced  at  the  gold  medal  in 
the  glass  case. 

But,  like  many  another  man  who  disbelieves 
in  the  future  life,  Dr  Piecraft  was  not  a  little 
curious  as  to  what  might  happen  to  him  after 
death.  He  was  indulging  that  curiosity  on 
the    very   evening    we   first    encounter    him. 


112  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

"There  is  a  pill  in  that  little  bottle,"  he 
was  thinking,  "which  would  end  the  whole 
wretched  business  in  something  less  than 
thirty  seconds.  I  wonder  I  don't  swallow  it. 
I  should  do  it  if  it  were  not  for  Jim.  But 
no,  I  shouldn't !  Hamlet,  old  boy,  you  were 
quite  right.  I'm  as  big  a  coward  as  the  rest 
of  them.  There's  just  a  chance  that  if  I  were 
to  swallow  that  pill  1  should  find  myself 
in  hell-fire  in  half  a  minute — and  I'm  not 
fool  enough,  or  not  hero  enough,  to  run 
it.  Of  course,  there's  just  a  chance  of  heaven 
too ;  for,  after  all,  I've  been  a  decent  sort  of 
chap,  and,  as  Stevenson  says,  there's  an  ulti- 
mate decency  in  the  Universe.  Heaven  ! — my 
stars,  heaven  doesn't  attract  me !  I've  never 
yet  heard  a  description  of  heaven  which  doesn't 
make  it  almost  as  bad  as  the  other  place. 
Extraordinary,  that  when  people  try  to  conceive 
a  better  world  than  this  they  almost  invariably 
picture  something  infinitely  worse  !  Mahomet 
knew  that :  'cute  fellow,  Mahomet.  And  yet 
he  was  no  more  successful  than  the  rest." 
Piecraft's  reflections,  once  started  on  that 


DR  PIECRAFT   BECOMES   CONFUSED     113 

line,  plunged  further.  '*  I  wonder  what  sort 
of  heaven  would  attract  me,"  he  thought. 
**  Let  me  see.  Why,  yes !  If  I  could  be 
sure  of  going  to  a  place  where  I  should  be 
professionally  busy  all  day  long,  plenty  of 
interesting  and  difficult  cases,  and  no  need 
to  worry  about  Jim's  education  and  his  future 
• — I'd  swallow  the  pill  this  instant.  By  heaven, 
I  would  !  I'd  do  harder  things  than  that.  I'd 
stick  it  out  in  this  wretched  hole  for  another 
ten  years,  I'd  give  up  smoking  shag,  I'd  give 
up  everything,  except  Jim — if  only  at  the  end 
of  the  time  I  could  go  to  some  heaven  where 
the  stream  of  patients  would  never  cease !  I 
really  don't  think  I  could  accept  salvation  on 
any  other  terms.  But  wait !  Yes,  there  is 
just  one  other  offer  I  would  look  at.  If  only 
they'd  let  me  go  back  to  the  old  home  in 
Gower  Street,  if  they'd  make  the  old  street 
look  as  it  did  in  those  days,  and  smell  as  it  did, 
and  give  tobacco  the  same  taste  it  had  then,  and 
show  me  Dad  standing  at  the  window  with 
Jim  in  his  arms,  and  let  me  be  in  love  again 
with  that  nice  girl  at  the  Slade  School — yes, 


114  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

and  if  they'd  let  me  go  into  the  shiUing  seats 
at  the  Lyceum  to  see  Mary  Anderson  as 
Perdita — by  Gad,  I'd  take  the  pill  for  that, 
indeed  I  would  ! " 

He  was  pursuing  these  reflections  when  his 
housekeeper  entered  the  room  with  three  or 
four  letters.  He  looked  them  over,  and  his 
face  brightened  when  he  saw  that  one  of  them 
was  from  his  half-brother  Jim.  A  pipe  was 
instantly  filled  and  Piecraft  re-settled  himself 
in  his  arm-chair  with  the  open  letter  in  his 
hand.  Jim's  letter  was  dated  from  Harrow 
and  ran  as  follows : — 

"  Dear  Phip, — Many  thanks  for  your  con- 
gratulations on  my  eighteenth  birthday  and  for 
the  enclosure  of  two  pounds.  Don't  be  angry, 
old  chap,  when  I  tell  you  how  I  spent  them.  I 
got  leave  at  once  to  go  down  town,  and  bought 
you  a  silk  hat,  a  pair  of  gloves,  some  collars, 
and  a  couple  of  ties.  You  will  get  them  all 
to-morrow,  and  I  hope  the  hat  and  gloves  are 
the  right  size.  I  am  pretty  sure  they  are.  I 
was  half  inclined  to  buy  you  a  box  of  cigars. 


DR   PIECRAFT   BECOMES  CONFUSED     115 

but  I  thought  you  needed  the  other  things 
more. 

"  The  fact  of  the  case  is,  Phip,  I  have 
definitely  made  up  my  mind  to  be  a  burden 
on  you  no  longer.  True,  I  might  get  a 
scholarship  at  the  'Varsity,  as  I  got  one  at 
Harrow.  But  you  would  still  have  to  pinch 
to  maintain  me ;  and  when  I  remember  how 
long  you  have  done  it  already,  I  feel  a  perfect 
beast.  I  am  old  enough  now  to  understand 
what  it  means,  and  I  tell  you,  Phip,  that 
nothing  will  induce  me  to  come  back  to 
Harrow  after  the  present  term.  So  please 
give  notice  at  once.  I  mean  to  go  out  to  the 
Colonies  with  a  man  from  the  Modem  Side, 
and  I  shall  earn  my  living  somehow — as  a 
labourer  if  need  be,  for  I  am  big  and  strong 
enough.  Indeed,  I  would  rather  enlist  than 
go  on  with  this. 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  trying  to  make 
a  bit  by  writing,  Phip  ?  I  believe  you  could 
write  a  novel.  Don't  you  remember  what 
bully  stories  you  used  to  tell  me  when  I  was 
a  kid  ?     Have  a  shot  at  it,  old  boy.     There's  a 


116  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

person  here  in  the  Sixth  who  has  a  knack  that 
way,  and  he  made  a  hundred  pounds  by  a  thing 
he  wrote.  He  got  the  tip  for  it  out  of  a  book 
on  the  art  of  novel-writing,  the  advertisement 
of  which  I  have  cut  out  of  the  Daily  Mail  and 
send  you  enclosed.  I  would  have  sent  you  the 
book  itself  had  there  been  enough  left  out  of 
the  two  pounds.  But  there  was  only  fourpence. 
**  The  Head  preached  a  capital  sermon  last 
night  on  the  text,  '  Of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven.'  The  instant  he  gave  out  the  words 
I  thought  of  you,  old  Phip.  And  I  went  on 
thinking  of  you  till  he  had  done.  That's  how 
I  know  the  sermon  was  a  good  one,  though  I 
didn't  listen  to  another  word.  Anything  that 
makes  me  think  of  you  must  be  good.  Phip, 
you  are  a  dead  cert,  for  heaven  when  you  die. 
But  don't  die  yet,  there's  a  good  chap.  For 
if  you  go,  I  shall  go  too. — Ever  yours,  Jim. 

"  P.S. — Don't  forget  to  give  notice  that  I 
am  leaving  this  term." 

When  Dr  Piecraft  laid  down  the  letter  his 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.      "The  only  bit  of 


DR   PIECRAFT   BECOMES  CONFUSED     117 

heaven  that's  left  me,"  he  said  aloud,  "  is 
going  to  be  taken  away.  There's  one  person 
in  the  world,  anyhow,  who  doesn't  think  me 
a  failure.  If  you  go  to  the  Colonies,  Jim,  I 
shall  take  the  pill,  come  what  may.  You're 
a  warm-hearted  boy,  Jim,  but  cruel  too.  I'd 
rather  spend  a  hundred  a  year  on  you  and 
go  threadbare  in  consequence,  than  earn  ten 
thousand  a  year  and  not  have  you  to  spend 
it  on.  At  the  same  time,  my  only  chance  of 
making  you  relent  is  to  earn  some  money. 
—  What  the  deuce  is  all  this  about  novel- 
writing  ? " 

He  took  up  the  advertisement  which  had 
fallen  in  his  lap,  and  read  as  follows :  "  How 
to  Write  Novels  —  a  Guide  to  Fortune  in 
Literature.  Containing  Practical  Instructions 
for  Amateurs,  whereby  Success  is  assured.  By 
an  Old  Hand." 

Next  morning  Piecraft  bought  the  book. 
As  no  patients  came  that  day  he  had  ample 
leisure  to  read  it.  "  Easy  as  lying,"  he  said  to 
himself  when  he  had  finished.      "  I   see   the 


118  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

trick  of  it.  And,  by  George,  I'll  make  the 
first  attempt  this  very  night.  I  have  half  a 
dozen  ideas  already.  Cerebral  pathology  is  no 
bad  training  for  a  novelist." 

So  he  sat  down  to  work,  and  by  two  in  the 
morning  had  written  the  first  chapter  of  a  very 
promising  novel.  In  ten  days  more  the  novel 
was  complete. 

Reading  over  his  manuscript,  and  severely 
criticising  himself  by  the  rules  of  his  Manual, 
he  found  that  he  had  put  in  too  much  scenery, 
had  undercoloured  the  beauty  of  the  heroine, 
had  forgotten  to  describe  her  dress,  and  had 
introduced  no  action  to  break  the  tedious 
sentiment  of  the  love-dialogues.  These  errors 
he  at  once  set  himself  to  correct,  pruning  down 
the  excesses  and  making  good  the  defects. 
Then,  reviewing  the  whole,  he  satisfied  himself 
that  he  had  done  well.  The  plot  turned  on  a 
love  affair,  and  was  easily  intelligible.  The 
sexes  were  evenly  balanced,  and  every  character 
had  its  foil.  There  was  plenty  of  incident  and 
continuous  action.  And  the  whole  was  unified 
by  a  single  purpose  or  controlling  idea. 


DR  PIECRAFT   BECOMES   CONFUSED     119 

This  last  gave  Piecraft  peculiar  satisfaction. 
He  had  feared  when  he  began  that  unity  of 
purpose  would  be  of  all  the  rules  the  most 
difficult  to  satisfy.  In  the  purpose  of  his  Hfe 
he  had  failed ;  was  it  likely,  he  asked  himself, 
that  he  would  do  any  better  in  romance  ? 
Judge,  then,  of  his  pleasure  on  discovering  that  a 
clear  thread  of  intention  ran  through  the  novel 
from  the  first  sentence  to  the  last,  and  came 
to  adequate  fulfilment  in  the  final  catastrophe. 
"  Purpose,"  he  reflected,  "  is  going  to  be  my 
strongest  point.     I  shall  score  heavily  on  that." 

He  sent  his  manuscript  to  a  publisher,  and 
was  rejoiced  to  hear  of  its  acceptance  within 
a  week.  In  the  six  months  that  followed, 
having  little  else  to  do,  he  produced  two 
more  novels.  Each  of  them  had  a  Purpose. 
The  publisher  bought  the  manuscripts  out- 
right for  fifty  pounds  apiece. 

"  It's  the  Purpose  that  pays,"  thought  Pie- 
craft.  "  It's  the  Purpose  that  works  the  oracle. 
It's  the  Purpose  the  public  like.  Next  time 
I'll  introduce  more  Purpose  and  stand  out  for 
better  terms  with  the  pubhsher." 


120  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

Meanwhile  he  had  been  compelled,  much 
against  his  will,  to  give  notice  of  Jim's  with- 
drawal from  school.  In  spite  of  the  brighten- 
ing of  his  prospects  the  half-brother  had 
proved  inexorable.  "  I  will  borrow  from  you," 
wrote  Jim,  "enough  to  pay  my  third-class 
fare  across  the  ocean  and  leave  me  with  a 
pound  or  two  on  landing.  After  that,  not 
another  penny."  "  All  right,  Jim ;  have  it 
your  own  way,"  was  Phippeny's  answer.  "  I 
shall  work  away  until  I  have  saved  £500,  and 
then,  my  boy.  Til  join  you  on  the  other  side 
and  life  will  begin  again  for  both  of  us. 
Meanwhile,  I'm  growing  uncommonly  prolific 
in  the  way  of  pot-boilers.  But  I'm  not  exactly 
in  love  with  it,  and  shall  abandon  my  new 
profession  without  a  sigh.  I  wish  I  could 
produce  something  really  good.  Perhaps 
when  I  join  you  I  shall  get  a  new  inspiration. 
I  believe  one  can  find  a  pen  and  ink  in  the 
Colonies." — Thus  the  matter  was  arranged. 

Dr  Phippeny  Piecraft  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  going  to  church,  but  one  Sunday  evening. 


DR   PIECRAFT  BECOMES   CONFUSED     121 

shortly  after  these  events,  he  found  himself 
there  by  accident  and  heard  a  sermon,  some 
sentences  of  which  caught  his  attention.  It 
happened  that  just  then  he  was  gravelled  for 
lack  of  matter ;  and  he  was  busy  during  the 
service  in  vainly  attempting  to  construct  a  plot 
in  which  a  gamekeeper's  daughter  was  to  be 
betrayed  by  a  young  lord  under  circumstances 
of  excruciating  novelty.  In  spite  of  the 
novelty  of  the  circumstances  he  could  not 
help  recognising  that  the  main  theme  was  a 
trifle  stale  ;  and  as  they  were  singing  the  hymn 
before  the  sermon  he  confessed  to  himself  that 
the  plot  was  not  worth  elaboration,  and  began 
to  think  about  other  things. 

Piecraft's  mind,  indeed,  was  just  then  in  a 
state  of  extreme  confusion.  Now  he  would  be 
listening  to  the  words  of  the  preacher,  now 
giving  way  to  anxieties  about  Jim,  now  return- 
ing to  the  plot  of  his  novel  like  a  moth  to 
a  candle-light,  and  now  reflecting,  with  the 
acute  discomfort  of  a  double  consciousness, 
on  his  inability  to  concentrate  his  thoughts. 
"  There  is  nothing,"  he  mused,  '*  which  sooner 


122  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

demoralises  a  man's  intelligence  than  the  dis- 
corery  that  he  can  make  money  by  follow- 
ing the  demand  of  a  degenerate  public  taste. 
It  leads  to  mental  incoherence  and  to  the  most 
extraordinary  self-deception.  I  am  afraid  that 
that  cursed  Manual  has  undone  me.  It  seems 
to  have  resurrected  another  personality  who 
belongs  to  a  lower  order  of  being  than  my 
true  and  proper  self.  Having  failed  to  earn 
my  living  by  being  the  man  I  am,  I  am  now 
in  a  way  to  make  money  by  being  the  man 
I  am  not.  What  business  have  I  to  be 
constructing  these  ridiculous  plots  ?  And  how 
is  it  that,  once  started  on  that  line,  I  am  unable 
to  prevent  myself  going  further?  I  had 
thought  that  a  scientific  training  was  the  best 
safeguard  against  obsession.  But  I  perceive 
it  is  no  such  thing.  Is  it  possible  that  I  am 
so  far  like  Frate  Alberigo — my  proper  soul 
expelled  to  another  world,  and  perhaps  prac- 
tising medicine  there,  while  a  demon  holds 
possession  of  my  body  and  writes  third-rate 
novels  in  this  ? " 

A  moment  later  he  was  thinking  about  Jim. 


DR  PIECRAFT  BECOMES   CONFUSED     123 

"  I  hope  the  boy  won't  forget  to  send  me 
a  cable  when  he  reaches  the  port ;  some- 
how I  feel  unaccountably  anxious  about  him." 
Then  he  turned  to  wondering  how  much  he 
would  be  able  to  screw  out  of  the  publishers 
for  the  next  novel,  and  how  everything  would 
depend  on  the  breadth  of  the  Purpose. 

Suddenly  a  sentence  of  the  sermon  caught 
his  ear:  ^^ Illusion  is  an  integral  part  of 
Reality."" 

"Tip-top,"  thought  Piecraft.  "So  it  is." 
And  in  a  moment  his  imagination  began  to 
cast  about  for  a  reality  of  which  three  parts 
should  be  illusion.  But  he  could  think  of 
nothing  that  answered  the  description,  and 
again  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  am  not  in  a 
normal  condition  to-day.  One  should  never 
force  a  reluctant  brain.  And  I  can't  help  being 
anxious  about  Jim.  1  had  better  turn  my 
attention  to  the  sermon." 

"  For  example,"  the  preacher  was  just  then 
saying,  "  many  a  man  who  has  determined  to 
abandon  the  pursuit  of  happiness  has  subse- 
quently realised   that   he  was   still  pursuing 


1«4  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

happiness  in  another  form.  Others  have 
found  that  actions  which  they  thought  they 
were  doing  for  the  love  of  God  were  really 
done  out  of  hatred  of  the  devil.  .  .  .  Nor  can 
we  ever  be  sure  that  we  are  the  authors  of 
our  own  acts.  No  doubt  we  usually  think 
we  are.  But  if  the  testimony  of  holy  men — 
and  of  bad  men  too — counts  for  anything,  we 
shall  be  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  many 
acts  which  we  think  we  have  performed  have 
really  been  performed  by  some  person  who 
is  not  ourselves,  or  by  some  force  or  motivation 
whose  source  is  not  in  our  own  souls.  This, 
my  friends,  applies  to  our  bad  actions  as  well 
as  to  our  good  ones.  Thus  we  see  how  of  all 
reality,  even  of  moral  reality,  illusion  is  an 
integral  part." 

Dr  Phippeny  Piecraft  did  not  trouble  him- 
self for  one  instant  about  the  truth  or  error  of 
these  doctrines.  An  idea  suddenly  leaped  into 
his  mind  as  he  heard  them,  and  the  preacher 
had  hardly  concluded  the  last  period  before 
the  novelist  saw  himself  secure  of  at  least 
eighty  pounds  for  his  next  manuscript.     Such 


DR  PIECRAFT  BECOMES  CONFUSED     125 

are  the  strange  reactions  which  the  best-meant 
sermons  often  provoke  in  the  minds  of  the 
hearers,  especially  when  there  is  genius  in  the 
congregation. 

The  title  of  his  new  novel  was  the  first  thing 
that  came  into  Piecraft's  head.  It  was  to  be 
called  Dual  Personality,  and  cerebral  patho- 
logy was  to  supply  the  atmosphere.  The  plot 
came  next — at  least  the  outline  of  it.  The 
main  actors  were  to  be  two  young  lords,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  the  one  as  good  as  they 
make  them  and  the  other  as  bad.  Each  of 
these  young  lords  was  to  play  the  part  of 
motivating  force  to  the  actions  of  the  other. 
"We'll  call  them  A  and  B,"  reflected  Phip- 
peny.  "  A,  the  good  young  lord,  shall  intend 
nothing  but  good  and  do  nothing  but  evil. 
B,  the  bad  one,  shall  intend  nothing  but  evil 
and  do  nothing  but  good :  that  is,  A's  actions 
shall  represent  B's  character,  and  vice  versa. 
Each,  of  course,  must  be  exhibited  as  under 
the  influence  of  the  other ;  and  this  mutual 
influence  must  be  so  strong  that  A's  virtues 
are  converted  by  B's  influence  into  vices,  and 


186  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

B's  vices  by  A's  influence  into  virtues.  Thus 
each  of  them  shall  be  the  author,  not  of  his 
own  actions,  but  of  the  actions  of  his  friend. 
A  splendid  idea,  and  one  that  has  never 
yet  occurred  to  any  novelist  living  or  dead ! 
It  is  certain  to  lead  to  some  tremendous 
situations." 

Before  the  sermon  concluded  the  pot 
was  beginning  to  simmer.  Several  situations 
had  been  rapidly  sketched  by  way  of  experi- 
ment :  a  trial  trip,  so  to  say,  had  been  taken. 
For  example:  Scene,  a  labyrinthine  wood. 
Time,  the  dead  of  night.  An  intermittent 
moonlight,  and  a  gale  causing  strange  voices 
in  the  tree-tops.  The  bad  young  lord,  on  his 
way  to  the  gamekeeper's  daughter,  is  stealing 
among  the  trees.  Suddenly  a  figure  steps 
into  his  path.  It  is  the  good  young  lord. 
Conversation  :  upshot — the  bad  young  lord 
resolves  to  take  Holy  Orders.  Takes  them, 
but  becomes  a  worse  villain  than  before  ;  psy- 
chology to  be  arranged  later.  Second  situa- 
tion :  good  young  lord  now  leader  of  Labour 
movement:   the  bad  young  lord  (in  Orders) 


DR  PIECRAFT  BECOMES   CONFUSED     127 

persuades  the  other,  by  casuistry,  to  misapply 
trust  funds  to  support  coal-strike.  And  so 
on  and  so  on.  End  :  Archbishopric  for  villain, 
penal  servitude  for  hero.  Reader  all  the  time 
kept  in  doubt  as  to  which  is  villain  and  which 
hero ;  and  sometimes  led  to  think,  by  cerebral 
pathology,  that  the  two  men  are  one  person- 
ality— the  two  halves  of  one  brain.  Counter- 
plot for  the  women — each  lord  in  love  with 
the  woman  who  is  matched  to  the  other. 
Keynote  of  whole — tragic  irony. 

Piecraft  had  advanced  thus  far  when  his 
mind  received  another  jostle.  His  attention 
was  again  caught  by  the  words  of  the  sermon. 
"  I  have  heard,"  the  preacher  was  saying,  "  of 
a  distinguished  author  who,  on  reading  one  of 
his  own  books  ten  years  after  it  was  written, 
entirely  failed  to  recognise  it  as  his  own  work, 
and  insisted  that  it  had  been  written  by  some- 
body else.     Such  is  the  force  of  illusion." 

"  The  fellow's  an  idiot,"  thought  Piecraft, 
*'  to  believe  such  a  story.  The  thing  couldn't 
happen.  At  least,  I'm  pretty  sure  it  will  never 
happen  to  me.     None  the  less,  it  might  be 


128  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

worked  in  for  a  literary  effect."  And  again 
he  fell  to  musing. 

The  preacher  was  now  coming  to  the  end 
of  his  sermon.  He  had  been  saying  some- 
thing about  the  relations  of  St  Paul  to  the 
older  apostles,  and  about  the  various  illusions 
current  at  the  time ;  and  then,  after  allud- 
ing to  St  Paul's  sojourn  in  the  wilderness  of 
Arabia,  was  winding  up  a  period  with  the 
following  questions  :  "  But  meanwhile,  my 
brethren,  where  is  Peter  ?  Where  is  John  ? 
Where  is  James  ?  And  what  are  they 
doing  ? " 

"  Where  is  James?'''  These,  and  what 
followed  them,  were  the  only  words  that  pene- 
trated to  Piecraft's  intelligence,  and  they 
struck  so  sharply  into  the  current  of  his 
thoughts  that  he  almost  forgot  himself.  He 
sat  bolt  upright,  opened  his  mouth,  and  was  on 
the  point  of  shouting  an  answer  to  the  question, 
when  he  suddenly  remembered  where  he  was 
and  checked  himself  in  time.  The  answer  he 
had  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  was  this  :  **  James, 
so  far  as  I  can  judge,  is  just  getting  into  zvire- 


DR   PIECRAFT   BECOMES   CONFUSED     129 

less  touch  with  New  York,  but  I  would  t-o 
God  I  knew  what  he  was  doing/" 

A  moment  later  he  was  thinking,  "I'm 
getting  hght-headed,  and  shall  be  making  an 
ass  of  myself  if  I'm  not  careful.  I'm  certainly 
not  in  my  usual  health.  What  the  deuce  is 
the  matter  with  me  ?  When,  I  wonder,  shall 
I  have  news  of  Jim's  arrival  ? " 

When  Piecraft  left  the  church  he  was  in  a 
state  of  acute  depression  and  distress.  His 
pulse  was  throbbing  and  his  head  aching,  and 
it  seemed  to  him  as  he  paced  the  streets  that 
the  preacher  was  following  close  behind  him, 
and  constantly  repeating  the  question,  "  Where 
is  James,  where  is  James?"  Sometimes  the 
voice  would  sound  like  a  distant  echo,  some- 
times like  a  mocking  cry. 

On  reaching  home  he  said  to  his  house- 
keeper :  "  Mrs  Avory,  I  shall  be  glad  if  you 
will  sit  up  till  you  hear  me  go  to  bed.  For 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  am  afraid  of  being 
left  alone.  I  can't  imagine  what  has  come 
over  me." 

He  tried  to  read  the  paper,  to  write  a  letter, 

9 


180  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

to  play  the  piano  ;  paced  the  floor  ;  wandered 
into  the  housekeeper's  sitting-room  ;  went  out 
for  a  walk  and  came  back  after  going  twenty 
yards.  Then  he  took  up  a  volume  of  his 
favourite  Arabian  Nights  and  found,  after 
reading  a  page,  that  he  had  not  understood 
a  sentence  of  the  print.  Towards  midnight 
his  agitation  was  so  great  that  he  could  bear 
it  no  longer.     He  rang  the  bell. 

*'  Mrs  Avory,"  he  said,  "  something  has  gone 
wrong  with  me — or  with  somebody  else.  I 
can't  help  thinking  about  James — and  fancy- 
ing all  sorts  of  things.  I  believe  I  am 
going  mad.  In  heaven's  name,  what  am  I 
to  do?" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  "  you  are  a 
doctor  and  should  know  better  than  L  But 
if  I  were  you,  sir,  I'd  take  a  sleeping  draught 
and  go  to  bed." 

In  despair  Piecraft  took  the  woman's  advice. 
As  a  doctor  he  avoided  the  use  of  every  kind 
of  drug  on  principle,  and  was  terrified  when 
he  realised  how  much  morphia  he  had  put  into 
the  draught.     "  Now  indeed  I  am   mad,"  he 


DR  PIECRAFT  BECOMES  CONFUSED     131 

thought,  "for  the  smallest  dose  of  morphia 
was  always  enough  to  give  me  the  horrors." 

His  fears  were  not  ungrounded.  There  is 
no  record  of  what  he  saw,  fancied,  or  suffered 
during  the  night  and  the  following  day ;  but 
when  he  entered  his  dining-room  late  next 
evening,  Mrs  Avory  started  as  though  she  had 
seen  a  ghost.  "  Give  me  the  newspaper,"  he 
cried,  and  before  she  could  prevent  him  he 
snatched  it  out  of  her  hand. 

"  '  Titanic '  sinks  after  collision  with  iceberg. 
Enormous  loss  of  life  " — were  the  first  words 
he  read. 

"  1  knew  it ! "  he  exclaimed. 

Those  who  saw  the  tragic  throng  of  men 
and  women  who  for  the  next  few  days  hung 
round  the  doors  of  the  White  Star  offices  in 
London  will  not  have  forgotten  that  poor 
fellow  who  was  beside  himself — how  he  would 
walk  among  the  crowd  accosting  this  person 
and  that,  and  how  he  would  then  take  off  his 
hat,  or  his  gloves,  or  pull  at  his  tie  and  say, 
"  Look  at  this  hat,  sir ;  look  at  those  gloves ; 


182  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

look  at  that  tie !  Jim  gave  me  those,  sir. 
He  bought  them  with  two  pounds  I  gave  him 
to  spend  on  himself.  What  do  you  think  of 
that  for  a  noble  act?  And  I  tell  you  that 
Jim's  lying  at  this  moment  fathoms  deep  in  the 
ocean.  He's  among  the  lost,  sir ;  by  God,  I 
know  it.  A  mere  boy  in  years,  madam,  only 
eighteen  last  birthday ;  but  a  man  in  char- 
acter. Loyal  to  the  core  !  And  take  my  word 
for  one  thing.  Jim  played  the  man  at  the 
last,  sir ;  you  bet  your  stars  he  did  I  He 
didn't  wear  a  lifebelt ;  not  he — that  is,  if  there 
was  a  woman  around  who  hadn't  got  one  !  A 
man  who  would  spend  his  money  as  he  spent 
those  two  pounds  wouldn't  keep  a  lifebelt  for 
himself. .  Would  he,  now  ?  Look  at  this  hat  1 
Look  at  these  gloves !  Look  at  that  tie ! "...  . 
For  two  whole  days  Piecraft  maintained 
this  requiem.  On  the  evening  of  the  second 
day  some  kind-hearted  fellow-sufferer  per- 
suaded him  to  go  home,  and  volunteered  to 
bear  him  company.  It  was  a  long  hour's 
journey  to  the  other  end  of  London.  A  tele- 
graph boy  arrived  at  the  house  at  the  same 


DR  PIECRAFT  BECOMES   CONFUSED     133 

moment  as  the  two  men  and  handed  Piecraft 
a  telegram.  He  broke  it  open  and  read. 
Then  he  suddenly  tore  off  his  hat,  and, 
handing  it  with  a  quick  movement  to  his 
companion,  staggered  forward  and  collapsed 
on  the  doorstep. 

When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  lying  on 
the  sofa  in  his  study.  In  the  room  were 
several  people  who,  as  soon  as  Piecraft  opened 
his  eyes,  gazed  upon  him  attentively  for  a  few 
moments  and  then,  nodding  to  each  other,  as 
though  to  say  "  all  right,"  quietly  withdrew. 

The  novelist  looked  round  him.  Yes,  he 
was  assuredly  in  his  own  familiar  room.  But 
one  thing  struck  him  as  strange.  The  room 
was  usually  in  a  state  of  extreme  disorder — 
dust  everywhere,  books  and  papers  lying  about 
in  confusion,  hats,  sticks,  pipes,  photographs 
and  golf-balls  mingling  in  the  chaos.  Now 
everything  was  neat  and  orderly.  The  furni- 
ture had  been  polished,  the  carpet  cleaned,  the 
hearth  swept  up  and  the  fire-irons  in  their  place. 
On   the   table,   too,   was   a    vase   of   flowers. 


184  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"  There  must  have  been  a  spring  cleaning," 
he  thought. 

He  felt  remarkably  well.  "  1  believe  that 
I  fell  asleep  during  a  sermon.  Well,  the 
sleep  has  done  me  good  and  cleared  my  brain. 
But  who  on  earth  brought  me  here  ?  Strange  : 
but  I'll  think  it  out  when  I  have  time.  Just 
now  I  want  to  write.  That  was  a  capital  idea 
for  my  new  novel.  I  must  work  it  out  at 
once  while  the  inspiration  is  still  active ;  for  I 
never  felt  keener  and  fitter  in  my  life.  Let 
me  see. — Yes,  Dual  Personality  was  to  be 
the  title."     These  were  his  first  reflections. 

Then  without  more  ado  he  sat  down  to  the 
table  ;  lit  his  pipe ;  ruminated  for  five  minutes, 
and  began  to  write. 

He  wrote  rapidly  and  continuously  for 
many  hours,  and  midnight  had  passed  when 
Piecraft  flung  down  the  last  sheet  on  the  floor 
and  uttered  a  triumphant  "  Done ! " 

"  I  thought,"  he  said  aloud,  "  that  it  would 
run  to  at  least  100,000  words.  But  I  don't 
believe  there's  a  fifth  that  number.  The  thing 
has   come  out  a  Short  Story.     Never   mind, 


DR   PIECRAFT  BECOMES   CONFUSED     135 

I'm  safe  for  a  twenty-pound  note  anyhow. 
Not  so  bad  for  one  day's  work.  I'll  read  it 
over  in  the  morning."  Then,  feeling  hungry, 
he  rang  the  bell. 

To  his  great  surprise  there  entered  not  the 
fussy  old  lady  who  usually  waited  on  him, 
but  a  girl  neatly  dressed  and  with  a  remark- 
ably intelligent  face. 

"  Are  you  the  new  servant  ? "  said  he. 

The  girl  made  no  reply,  but,  having  placed 
food  on  the  table,  withdrew.  "  As  modest  as 
she  is  pretty,"  thought  Piecraft  as  he  ate  his 
meal.  "  Well,  I'll  give  her  no  cause  to  com- 
plain of  me.  And  I  hope  she'll  continue  to 
wait  on  me.  For  in  all  my  life  I  never  knew 
bread  and  wine  to  taste  so  delicious." 

On  the  following  morning  he  had  barely 
finished  his  breakfast,  supplied  him  in  the 
same  silent  manner,  when  a  tap  came  at  the 
door  and  a  young  man  stepped  into  the  room. 
"  Is  there  an5rthing  I  can  do  for  you,  sir  ? " 
said  he. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  said  Piecraft.  "  I  have 
never  seen  you  before." 


136  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"  Oh,"  said  the  young  man, "  I'm  a  messenger. 
Your  friends  have  sent  me  to  look  after 
you." 

"  It's  the  first  time  they  have  ever  done 
such  a  thing,"  returned  the  other,  "and  I'm 
much  obliged  to  them.  Anyhow,  you  came 
at  the  right  time.  There  is  something  you 
can  do  for  me ;  at  least  I  think  so.  Can  you 
read  aloud  ? " 

"  I  like  nothing  better,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"  Well,  then,  you  are  the  very  man  I  want. 
It  so  happens  that  I  wrote  a  story  for  the 
press  last  night,  and  I  was  just  wishing  that 
I  had  a  kind  friend  who  would  do  me  the 
service  of  reading  it  aloud.  There's  nothing 
that  gives  an  author  a  better  idea  of  the  effect 
of  his  work  than  to  hear  it  read  aloud." 

"  I  will  read  it  with  the  greatest  pleasure," 
said  the  youth. 

"  Then  let  us  get  to  work  at  once,"  said 
Piecraft — and  he  handed  his  manuscript  across 
the  table. 

The  young  man  settled  himself  in  a  good 


DR   PIECRAFT   BECOMES   CONFUSED     137 

light  and  began  to  read.  The  first  sentence 
ran  as  follows : 

'^  For  the  fourth  time  that  day,  Abdulla,  the 
water-seller  of  Damascus,  had  come  to  the  river's 
bank  to  Jill  his  water-shin'' 

"  Stop ! "  cried  Piecraft.  *'  I  never  wrote  that  I 
I  must  have  given  you  the  wrong  manuscript. 
What  is  the  title  on  the  outside  ?  " 

"  The  Hole  in  the  Water-shin^'  answered  the 
reader. 

"  It's  not  the  title  of  my  story,"  said  Piecraft. 
"  Here,  hand  the  papers  over  to  me  and  let 
me  look  at  them.  Extraordinary !  Where 
did  this  thing  come  from  ?  I  presume  you're 
attempting  some  kind  of  practical  joke.  What 
have  you  done  with  the  manuscript  I  gave 
you?" 

"The  confusion  will  soon  pass,"  said  the 
other. 

"  Confusion,  indeed  ! "  answered  Piecraft,  as 
his  eye  glanced  over  the  sheets.  "  You've  hit 
the  right  word  this  time,  my  boy.  For  the 
odd  thing  is  that  the  whole  piece  is  written 
in  my  hand  and  on  my  paper,  and  is,  I  could 


188  ALL  MEN   ARE  GHOSTS 

swear,  the  identical  bundle  of  sheets  I  laid 
away  last  night.  And  yet  there  is  not  a  word 
in  it  I  can  recognise  as  my  own.  But  wait — 
what's  this  on  page  32  ?  I  see  something 
about '  dual  personality.'  That  was  the  title  of 
my  story.  But  no  !  The  words  are  scratched 
out.  Yes,  a  whole  page — two  pages — more 
pages — are  deleted  at  that  point.  What  on 
earth  does  it  all  mean?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  young  man,  "  if  you 
allow  me  to  read  the  whole  to  you,  your  con- 
nection with  the  story  will  gradually  become 
clear." 

"  You  had  better  do  so,"  answered  Piecraft. 
"  At  all  events,  read  on  till  I  stop  you.  For, 
from  what  I  see,  I  don't  like  the  fellow's  style, 
and  may  soon  grow  tired  of  it.  And  make  a 
point  of  reading  the  portions  that  are  scratched 
out." 

"  I  shall  remember  your  wishes,"  said  the 
other ;  "  and  as  to  not  likiflg  the  fellow's  style, 
I  think  you  may  find  that  it  is  to  some  extent 
founded  on  your  own." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Piecraft.     "Any- 


DR   PIECRAFT  BECOMES   CONFUSED     139 

how,  if  he  hasn't  been  copying  my  style,  he 
has  been  stealing  my  ideas.  The  passage 
about  '  dual  personality '  proves  it.  But  go 
ahead,  and  let  us  hear  what  it's  all  about." 

The  young  man  again  settled  himself  in  a 
good  light  and  read  as  follows. 


II 

"THE   HOLE   IN   THE   WATER-SKIN" 

For  the  fourth  time  that  day  Abdulla,  the 
water-seller  of  Damascus,  had  come  to  the 
river's  bank  to  fill  his  water-skin.  The  day 
was  hot  beyond  endurance ;  the  drinkers  had 
been  clamorous  and  trade  had  been  brisk ; 
and  a  bag  of  small  money,  the  fruits  of  his 
merchandise,  hung  within  the  folds  of  his 
gaberdine. 

Weary  with  going  to  and  fro  in  the  burning 
streets,  Abdulla  seated  himself  under  a  palm 
tree,  the  last  of  a  long  line  that  ran  down  to  the 
pool  where  the  skins  were  filled.  Resting  his 
back  against  the  cool  side  of  the  tree,  the  set- 
ting sun  being  behind  him,  he  drew  forth  his  bag 
and  counted  his  coins.  "  One  more  journey," 
he  said  to  himself,  "and  the  bag  will  be  full. 

Zobeida  shall  have  sweetmeats  to-morrow." 

140 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"    141 

The  pleasing  thought  lingered  in  his  mind ; 
fled  for  a  moment  and  then  returned  ;  AbduUa 
saw  the  shop  of  the  infidel  Greek,  with  boxes 
of  chocolate  in  the  window ;  he  saw  himself 
inside  making  his  choice  among  innumerable 
boxes,  and  holding  the  bag  of  money  in  his 
hand.  Then  his  head  fell  forward  on  his  chest 
and  he  was  asleep. 

The  plunge  into  sleep  had  been  so  sudden, 
and  its  duration  was  so  brief,  that  no  memory 
of  it  was  left,  and  AbduUa  knew  not  that  he 
had  slept  nor  the  moment  when  he  awaked. 
Fluctuating  images  rose  and  wavered  and 
vanished ;  and  then,  as  though  in  answer  to 
a  signal,  the  incoherence  ceased,  the  forms 
became  defined,  and  a  steady  stream  of  con- 
sciousness began  to  flow. 

He  was  conscious  of  the  figure  of  a  man  in 
the  foreground  whose  presence  he  had  not 
previously  noticed.  The  man  was  sitting 
motionless  on  a  low  rock  less  than  a  stone- 
cast  distant,  and  close  to  the  river's  brim  ;  and 
he  seemed  to  be  watching  the  still  flow  of  the 
stream.     A  moment  later  he  stood  upright. 


148  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

turned  round,  and  crossed  the  fifty  paces  of 
sand  that  lay  between  him  and  Abdulla. 

As  the  man  drew  nearer,  Abdulla  observed 
that  he  bore  a  bewildering  resemblance  to  him- 
self. Not  many  minutes  before  he  had  been 
looking  at  his  own  reflection  in  a  small  pocket 
mirror  which  he  had  purchased  that  morning 
from  a  Jew  as  a  present  for  Zobeida ;  and  as 
he  had  looked  at  the  image,  still  thinking  of 
Zobeida,  he  wished  that  God  had  bestowed 
upon  him  a  countenance  of  nobler  cast.  The 
face  he  now  saw  before  him  was  the  face  he 
had  just  seen  in  the  mirror,  with  the  nobler 
cast  introduced ;  and  Abdulla,  noticing  the 
difference  as  well  as  the  resemblance,  was 
afraid. 

"  Depart  from  me,  O  my  master,"  said  he, 
"for  I  am  a  man  of  no  account."  And  he 
bowed  himself  to  the  ground. 

"  Rise,"  said  the  other,  "  and  make  haste ; 
for  the  sun  is  low,  and  scarce  an  hour  remains 
for  thy  merchandise.  Dip  thy  water-skin  into 
the  stream ;  and,  as  thou  dippest,  think  on  the 
hour  of  thy  death,  when  the  All-merciful  will 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE  WATER-SKIN"     143 

dip  into  the  river  of  thy  life,  and  thou  shalt 
sleep  for  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  know 
not  when  thou  awakest,  and  there  shall  be  no 
mark  left  on  thee,  even  as  no  mark  is  left  on 
the  river  when  thou  hast  filled  thy  water-skin 
from  its  abundance." 

"  I  know  not  what  thou  sayest,"  said 
AbduUa,  "  for  I  am  a  poor  man  and  ignorant." 

"Thou  art  young,"  said  the  other,  "and 
there  is  time  for  thee  to  learn.  Hear,  then, 
and  I  will  enlighten  thee.  Everything  hath 
its  double,  and  the  double  is  redoubled  again. 
To  this  world  there  is  a  next  before  and  a 
next  after,  and  to  each  next  a  nearest,  through 
a  counting  that  none  can  complete.  Worlds 
without  end  lie  enfolded  one  within  another 
like  the  petals  of  a  rose  ;  and  as  the  fragrance 
of  one  petal  penetrates  and  intermingles  with 
the  fragrance  of  all  the  rest,  so  is  the  vision  of 
the  world  thou  seest  now  blended  with  the 
vision  of  that  which  was  and  of  that  which  is 
to  come.  And  I  tell  thee,  O  thou  seller  of 
water,  that  between  this  world  and  its  next 
fellow  the  difference  is  so  faint  that  none  save 


144  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

the  enlightened  can  discern  it.  A  man  may 
live  a  thousand  lives,  as  thou  hast  already 
done,  and  dream  but  of  one.  Again  thou 
shalt  sleep  and  again  thou  shalt  awake,  and 
the  world  of  thy  sleeping  shall  differ  from  the 
world  of  thy  waking  no  more  than  thy  full 
water-skin  differs  from  itself  when  two  drops 
of  water  have  fallen  from  its  mouth." 

"  Thou  speakest  like  a  devotee,"  answered 
Abdulla.  "The  matter  of  thy  discourse  is 
utterly  beyond  me,  save  for  that  thou  sayest 
concerning  the  dipping  of  the  water-skin. 
There  thy  thought  is  as  the  echo  of  mine 
own.  But  know  that  I  am  ashamed  in  thy 
presence ;  and  again  I  entreat  thee  to  depart." 
And  Abdulla  bowed  himself  as  before. 

"  Do,  then,  as  I  bid  thee,"  said  the  man ; 
"dip  thy  skin  in  the  water  of  the  flowing 
river,  think  on  the  hour  of  thy  death,  and 
forget  not  as  thou  dippest  to  pronounce  the 
name  of  God." 

Then  Abdulla  rose  up  and  did  what  he  was 
commanded  to  do.  While  he  was  dipping  the 
skin  he  tried  to  think  of  the  hour  of  his  death ; 


"THE   HOLE   IN   THE  WATER-SKIN"     145 

but  he  could  think  only  of  the  words,  and 
dying  seemed  to  him  a  thing  of  naught ;  for 
he  was  young  and  Zobeida  was  fair.  Never- 
theless, when  he  had  lifted  the  full  skin  from 
the  river,  and  saw  that  his  taking  left  no  mark, 
an  old  thought  came  back  to  him,  and  for  the 
thousandth  time  he  began  to  wonder  at  the 
ways  of  flowing  water.  "  Only  God  can  under- 
stand them,"  he  murmured.  "  May  the  Com- 
passionate have  mercy  upon  the  ignorant ! " 

Then  he  adjusted  the  burden  on  his  back 
and  turned  to  the  palm-belt.  But  the  stranger 
was  gone. 

As  one  who  walks  in  sleep,  Abdulla  retraced 
the  path  on  which  for  more  than  half  the  year 
he  came  and  went  three  or  four  times  a  day. 
Now  he  pondered  the  words  of  his  visitant ; 
now  the  image  of  flowing  water  rose  and  glided 
before  the  inner  eye. 

He  passed  under  the  gate  of  the  city  without 

noting  where  he   was.     But   here   a  sudden 

jostle  interrupted  his  reverie.     A  man  driving 

a  string  of  donkeys  thrust   him  against  the 

wall,   cursing   him    as    he  passed.      Abdulla 

10 


146  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

looked  up  and,  when  he  heard  the  curses, 
repeated  the  name  of  God  as  a  protection 
against  evil. 

Re-settling  the  water-skin  in  the  position 
from  which  it  had  been  displaced  by  the 
collision  with  the  donkey,  he  took  up  the 
thread  of  his  musing  and  went  on.  He 
thought  of  Zobeida,  of  the  Cadi,  of  the  con- 
tract of  marriage,  of  the  sweetmeats  he  would 
purchase  on  the  morrow,  of  the  shop  of  the 
Greek.  But  again  his  reverie  was  broken ; 
this  time  by  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  The 
cry  of  his  trade  had  burst  automatically  from 
his  lips  :  "  Water ;  sweet  water  I  Ho,  every- 
one that  thirsteth,  come  and  buy  I " 

A  vision  lay  before  him,  and  he  seemed  to 
be  gazing  at  it  from  a  point  in  mid-air.  He 
saw  a  street  in  Damascus ;  the  crowd  is 
coming  and  going,  the  merchants  are  in 
their  shops,  and  some  are  crying  their  wares. 
Close  by  the  door  of  a  house  a  boy  is  hold- 
ing forth  a  wooden  bowl,  and  in  front  of  him 
a  water-seller  is  in  the  act  of  opening  his 
water-skin.      Abdulla  watches  the  filling  of 


"THE   HOLE   IN   THE   WATER-SKIN"    147 

the  bowl,  and  sees  the  man  put  forth  his  hand 
to  take  the  coin  the  boy  is  offering.  The  man 
touches  the  coin  and  instantly  becomes  Abdulla 
himself!  Abdulla  closes  his  water-skin  and 
replaces  it  on  his  back,  not  without  a  moment- 
ary sense  of  bewilderment.  He  observes 
also  that  some  of  the  water  is  spilt  on  the 
ground.  But  he  has  no  memory  of  the 
spilling. 

Abdulla  would  fain  have  questioned  himself. 
But  he  found  no  question  to  ask  and  could  not 
begin  the  interrogation.  Something  seemed 
to  have  disturbed  him,  but  so  completely  had 
it  vanished  that  he  could  give  the  disturbance 
neither  form  nor  name.  Otherwise  the  chain 
of  his  memory  was  unbroken.  He  had  finished 
his  last  round  for  the  day ;  scarce  a  cup  of 
water  remained  in  the  skin,  and  as  he  flung 
the  flaccid  thing  over  his  shoulder  he  began 
to  recall,  one  by  one,  the  names  and  faces  of 
his  customers,  forty  in  all,  reflecting  with 
satisfaction  that  the  last  skinful  had  brought 
him  the  best  gains  of  the  day.  Then  he 
remembered  the  driver  of  donkeys  who  had 


148  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

thrust  him  against  the  wall,  and,  examining 
the  skin,  found  that  it  was  frayed  almost  to 
bursting.  And  Abdulla  uttered  a  curse  on 
the  driver  and  turned  homewards. 

His  road  lay  through  narrow  streets,  crowded 
with  people,  and  as  he  passed  down  one  of 
them  a  veiled  woman  cried  to  him  from  the 
door  of  a  hovel. 

"  O  compassionate  water-seller,  I  have  two 
children  within  who  are  sore  athirst,  for  the 
fever  is  burning  them.  Give  them,  I  pray 
thee,  a  mouthful  of  water,  and  Allah  shall 
recompense  thee  in  Paradise." 

"  Woman,"  said  Abdulla,  "  there  is  less 
water  in  the  skin  than  would  suffice  to  cool 
the  tongue  of  a  soul  in  hell.  Nevertheless, 
what  I  have  I  will  give  thee."  And  he  lowered 
the  mouth  of  his  water-skin  into  the  woman's 
bowl. 

Not  a  drop  came  forth.  In  vain  Abdulla 
shook  the  skin  and  pressed  the  corners  between 
the  palms  of  his  hands.  Then,  discovering 
what  had  happened,  he  began  to  curse  and  to 
swear. 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     149 

*'  By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet,"  he  cried, 
"  the  skin  has  burst !  A  driver  of  donkeys, 
begotten  of  Satan,  thrust  me  against  the  wall 
at  the  entering  in  of  the  city,  and  frayed  the 
water-skin.  And  now,  by  the  permission  of 
God,  the  heat  has  dried  up  the  remnant  of 
the  water  and  cracked  the  skin,  thus  com- 
pleting the  work  of  the  Deviser  of  Mischief. 
Alas,  alas !  for  the  skin  was  borrowed.  And 
to-morrow  restitution  will  be  demanded,  for 
the  lender  is  likewise  a  son  of  the  Devil,  and 
the  bowels  of  mercy  are  not  within  him." 

"  Verily  thou  raisest  a  great  cry  for  a  small 
evil,"  said  the  woman.  "  Bethink  thee  of 
them  who  are  perishing  with  thirst,  and  hold 
thy  peace." 

"  Nay,  but  I  am  mindful  of  them,"  said 
AbduUa ;  "for  had  not  the  water-skin  been 
burst,  I  would  have  had  the  wherewithal  to 
give  them  to  drink.  But  know,  O  mother  of 
sorrows,  that  the  motives  of  mankind  are  of 
a  mixed  nature,  especially  when  grief  oppress- 
eth  them.  And  my  griefs  are  greater  than 
thou   deemest.      Woe  is   me !      Behold  this 


150  ALL   MEN   ARE  GHOSTS 

bag  of  money,  and  raise  thy  voice  with  mine 
in  lamentation  over  the  miseries  of  the  un- 
fortunate. A  damsel,  more  beautiful  than  the 
full  moon  seen  beyond  the  summits  of  waving 
palms,  is  at  this  hour  hungering  for  the  sweet- 
meats of  the  infidel,  even  as  the  children  of  thy 
body  are  thirsting  for  water ;  and  within  this 
bag  is  the  money  which,  by  the  favour  of 
Allah,  would  have  purchased  abundance  of  all 
that  she  desireth.  But  ere  to-morrow's  sun 
has  risen  from  the  edge  of  the  desert,  four 
coins  out  of  every  five  will  be  claimed  as 
damages  by  the  lender  of  the  skin  (whom 
may  the  Prophet  utterly  reject ! ),  the  rest 
being  reserved  for  the  daily  food  which  the 
All-merciful  provides  for  his  creatures.  And 
the  damsel  will  sit  in  the  corner  of  the  house, 
rocking  her  goodly  body,  which  was  created  for 
the  angels  to  gaze  upon  ;  and  she  will  bite  her 
hands  and  beat  them  on  the  wall,  and  wail 
for  the  sweetmeats  that  come  not,  and  curse 
the  name  of  AbduUa,  the  breaker  of  vows  !  " 

"  Most  excellent  of  water-sellers,"  said  the 
woman,  "many  are  the  damsels  in  this  city 


"THE  HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     151 

addicted  to  the  sweetmeats  of  the  infidel,  and 
of  those  that  are  beautiful  as  the  full  moon 
beyond  the  waving  palms  there  are  not  a  few. 
Thy  description,  therefore,  avail  eth  not  for  the 
identification  of  thy  beloved.  Describe  her 
more  narrowly,  I  beseech  thee,  that  hereafter, 
when  my  children  are  dead,  I  may  bring  her 
the  balm  of  consolation.  For  I  am  afflicted 
in  her  woes  ;  and  between  women  in  sorrow 
there  is  ever  a  bond." 

"  Yea,  verily,"  answered  Abdulla.  "  I  will 
so  describe  my  beloved  that  thou  shall  recog- 
nise her  among  ten  thousand.  Know,  then, 
that  her  form  is  like  unto  a  minaret  of  ivory 
built  by  the  Waters  of  Silence  in  a  king's 
garden ;  her  eyes  are  as  lighted  lamps  in  the 
house  of  the  Enchanter ;  the  flowing  of  her 
hair  is  a  troop  of  vdld  horses  pursued  by 
Bedouin  in  the  wilderness  of  Arabia  ;  and  the 
fragrance  of  her  coming  is  like  an  odour  of 
precious  nards  wafted  on  the  evening  breeze 
from  the  Islands  of  Wak-Wak." 

"O  Abdulla,"  replied  the  other,  "of  a 
truth  I  know  this  damsel.     And  now  1  per- 


152  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

ceive  that  the  Devourer  of  Bliss  hath  taken 
thee  in  his  net  and  multiplied  thy  sorrows 
upon  thy  head.  But  forget  not  the  grief  of 
this  thy  handmaid,  and  the  suffering  of  those 
she  has  nursed  at  the  breast.  Hear  even  now 
the  wailing  that  is  within  I  Lo,  a  worker  of 
spells  has  sent  destruction  among  us,  and  the 
sickness  is  sore  in  the  habitations  of  the  poor. 
Press,  then,  thy  skin  once  more,  if  perad venture 
Allah  may  have  left  there  one  drop  of  water, 
that  the  mouth  of  the  little  ones  may  be 
moistened  before  they  die.  And  add  a  curse, 
I  pray  thee,  on  the  Worker  of  Spells  ;  for  the 
Giver  of  Gifts  hath  made  thy  tongue  of  great 
alacrity,  and  taught  thee  the  putting-together 
of  wise  judgments  and  the  rounding-off  of 
memorable  sayings." 

By  this  time  a  crowd,  attracted  by  the  cries 
and  the  cursing,  had  gathered  round  the 
speakers,  and  so  thick  was  the  press  that 
AbduUa  had  much  ado  to  move  his  hands 
that  he  might  press  the  water-skin  as  he  was 
bidden. 

"  O    wise  and  much-enduring   woman,"  he 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     153 

cried,  "  I  greatly  fear  me  that  thy  prayer  is 
vain.  But  I  will  even  do  as  thou  biddest,  if 
only  these  foolish  ones  will  make  room  that 
I  may  pass  my  hands  craftily  over  the  skin. 
Thereafter  I  will  add  a  goodly  curse  on  the 
worker  of  spells,  and  at  the  last  thou  and  I 
and  all  this  multitude  will  wail  and  lament 
together,  that  the  heart  of  the  All-merciful 
may  be  moved  to  pity  and  his  will  turned  to 
work  us  good." 

So  spake  Abdulla,  and  the  crowd  began  to 
give  way.  But,  behold,  a  marching  squad  of 
soldiery,  going  to  the  war,  with  drums  beating 
and  bayonets  all  aflash,  suddenly  swings  down 
the  street,  filling  its  whole  breadth  from  side 
to  side.  Instantly  the  crowd  backs,  and 
Abdulla  and  the  woman,  separated  from  one 
another,  are  swept  along  as  driftwood  by  the 
torrent.  Arrived  in  the  open  space  into  which 
the  street  discharged,  Abdulla  rushes  hither 
and  thither  in  search  of  the  woman,  examining 
every  face  in  the  crowd,  and  raising  himself  on 
tiptoe  that  he  may  look  over  their  heads.  But 
the  woman  is  nowhere  to  be  seen. 


164  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

Perturbed  by  the  sudden  disappearance  of 
the  woman,  AbduUa  turned  once  more  into  the 
homeward  way.  Before  he  had  taken  many 
steps  it  occurred  to  him  to  examine  the  rent 
in  his  water-skin.  Standing  quite  still  and 
holding  the  skin  at  arm's  length  before  him,  he 
gazed  intently  at  the  small  hole,  about  the  size 
of  an  olive-stone,  which  had  resulted  from  the 
donkey-driver's  assault.  As  he  thus  gazed,  the 
incident  which  had  so  abruptly  terminated  a 
few  minutes  before  seemed  to  retreat  into  the 
distant  past.  Then  it  became  a  story,  heard 
he  knew  not  where,  about  a  water-seller  who 
lived  long  ago.  Next,  it  seemed  a  dream 
of  the  night  before,  the  details  of  which  he 
could  not  recall.  Finally,  it  vanished  from 
his  memory  altogether. 

AbduUa,  realising  that  it  was  gone,  turned 
quickly  and  found,  with  some  surprise,  that 
he  was  standing  in  front  of  a  large  shop 
with  plate-glass  windows,  behind  which  were 
boxes  of  chocolate  arranged  in  rows.  A 
mirror  —  at  least  it  seemed  so  to  AbduUa, 
— of  equal  length  with   the   shop  front,  was 


"THE   HOLE  IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"    155 

set  at  the  back  and  doubled  the  objects  in 
the  window. 

The  sight  of  the  sweetmeats  instantly 
brought  back  the  memory  of  his  misfortunes, 
and,  in  so  doing,  gave  an  occasion  to  the 
Tempter. 

"  I  will  conceal  what  has  happened  from  the 
lender  of  the  skin,"  thought  AbduUa.  "  I  will 
insert  a  cunning  patch,  which  will  assuredly 
burst  so  soon  as  the  skin  is  filled  with  water, 
and  I  will  then  swear  by  God  and  the  Prophet 
that  the  skin  was  patched  when  I  borrowed 
it.  And  now  I  will  go  in  and  bargain  with 
the  infidel  for  yonder  box,  the  circumference 
whereof  is  wide  as  the  belly  of  a  well-fattened 
sheep." 

Raising  his  eyes  from  the  great  box  of 
chocolates,  AbduUa's  attention  was  strangely 
arrested  by  the  reflection  of  his  own  face  and 
figure  in  the  mirror  at  the  back  of  the  shop 
front.  He  noted,  with  a  start,  the  unwonted 
dignity  of  the  figure  as  thus  presented,  and 
immediately  recalled  the  man  who  had  accosted 
him  but  lately  by  the  Water-sellers'  Pool. 


166  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

Abdulla  gazed  on  what  was  before  him,  and 
thought  thus  within  himself,  "Of  a  truth  I 
knew  not  that  Allah  had  bestowed  so  dignified 
a  countenance  on  the  least  worthy  of  his  ser- 
vants. The  eyes  are  the  eyes  of  eagles ;  the 
nose  is  a  promontory  looking  seawards;  the 
brow  is  a  tower  of  brass  built  for  defence  at 
the  gateway  of  a  kingdom.  Verily,  the  mirror 
of  Zobeida  must  have  been  at  fault.  Surely 
God  hath  now  provided  me,  in  my  own 
countenance,  with  the  means  of  endearment, 
and  the  sweetmeats  of  the  infidel  are  needed 
not.  Moreover,  it  becometh  not  one  thus 
favoured  to  deal  crookedly  with  the  followers 
of  the  Prophet.  Is  Abdulla  a  man  of  violence, 
as  the  driver  of  the  donkey  ;  or  a  man  of  no 
bowels,  as  the  lender  of  the  skin  ?  Is  he  an 
accursed  Greek  or  a  more  accursed  Armenian 
that  he  should  play  the  cheat  with  his  neigh- 
bour, inserting  a  cunning  patch,  which  will 
assuredly  produce  leakage  and  make  the  rent 
worse  than  before  ?  God  forbid  !  Abdulla 
is  a  man  of  pure  occupation,  even  as  yonder 
image  reveals  him.     Nevertheless,  it  may  be 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN '^     157 

that  the  Author  of  Deception  has  fashioned 
a  lying  picture  in  the  mirror,  that  he  may 
cause  me  to  forgo  the  purchase  of  the  box, 
and  undo  me  with  the  beloved,  who  will  soil 
her  cheeks  with  rivers  of  tears,  and  rock  her 
body  in  the  corner  of  the  house.  Go  to,  now  ; 
I  will  see  whether  the  Evil  One  be  not  hidden 
behind  the  mirror ;  or  if,  perchance,  there  be 
not  here  some  witchcraft  contrivance  of  the 
Franks." 

So  thinking,  Abdulla  stepped  into  the  entry 
of  the  shop,  that  he  might  examine  the  back 
of  the  mirror.  What  was  his  astonishment 
on  discovering  that  there  was  no  mirror  at  all, 
the  boxes  of  chocolate  he  had  taken  for  reflec- 
tions being  just  as  real  as  all  the  rest ! 

The  Greek  proprietor,  suspecting  him  to  be 
a  thief,  rushed  out  to  apprehend  him.  He 
was  too  late,  for  Abdulla  had  fled  into  the 
darkness. 

The  sudden  night  had  fallen ;  aloft,  in  a 
firmament  of  violet-black,  the  great  stars  were 
shining,  and  the  city  was  still. 


158  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

Pursuing  his  way,  Abdulla  found  himself  in 
front  of  a  lofty  house  with  a  solitary  latticed 
window  immediately  beneath  the  roof.  It  was 
the  appointed  hour.  Presently  a  handkerchief 
was  waved  from  between  the  lattice,  and  the 
soft  voice  of  a  woman  began  to  speak. 

"O  Abdulla,  my  beloved,"  said  the  voice, 
*'  though  it  be  dark  in  the  street,  yet  there  is 
a  light  round  about  thee  so  that  I  can  see  thy 
countenance  as  if  it  were  noonday.  Where- 
fore hast  thou  anointed  thyself  with  radiance, 
and  made  thyself  to  shine  like  the  sons  of  the 
morning  ?  Where  hast  thou  been  ?  For  thy 
fashion  is  passing  strange,  and  my  heart  turns 
to  water  at  the  sight  of  thee." 

"  1  have  been,"  said  Abdulla,  "  in  the  com- 
pany of  the  wise,  who  have  taught  me  the  way 
of  understanding,  and  shown  me  all  knowledge, 
and  opened  the  dark  things  that  are  hidden  in 
the  secret  parts  of  the  earth.  All  day  have  I 
conversed  with  enlightened  and  honourable 
men,  and  they  have  made  me  the  chief  of  their 
company  and  the  father  of  their  sect." 

"  Begone,  then,"  answered  the  woman,  "  for 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     159 

I  know  thee  not,  and  thy  comehness  makes  me 
afraid.  I  had  deemed  that  thou  wert  AbduUa, 
the  seller  of  water ;  and  I  am  even  now  pre- 
pared to  let  down  a  basket  that  he  may  place 
therein  the  thing  for  which  my  soul  is  an 
hungered,  even  the  sweetmeats  of  the  infidel, 
which  I  would  then  draw  up  again  with  a  cord 
of  silk,  and  be  refreshed  after  my  manner. 
But  as  for  the  ways  of  understanding,  thou 
mayest  tread  them  alone,  and  the  opening 
up  of  that  which  is  hidden  is  a  thing  that  my 
soul  hateth." 

"  O  thou  that  speakest  behind  the  lattice," 
said  Abdulla,  "  thy  discourse  is  of  matters  that 
lack  importance  in  the  eyes  of  the  sagacious. 
I  perceive  thou  art  possessed  by  a  demon,  and 
surmise  that  the  Whetter  of  Appetite  is  leading 
thee  in  the  path  of  destruction.  Retire,  there- 
fore, to  thy  inner  chamber,  and  recite  quickly 
the  Seven  Exorcisms  and  the  Two  Professions 
of  Faith." 

"  O  Abdulla,  if  indeed  thou  art  he,"  replied 
the  voice,  "  I  discern  thou  art  contending  for 
a  purpose.      Peradventure,   the   eyes   of   the 


160  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

wanton  have  entangled  thee  in  the  way,  and 
thou  hast  bestowed  on  another  that  which, 
when  thy  heart  was  upright,  thou  designedst 
for  me.  Come  now  and  prove  thine  integrity, 
for  I  will  presently  let  down  the  basket  that 
thou  mayest  fill  it  with  the  delicacies  of  the 
Franks." 

"  Thou  fallest  deeper  into  the  snares  of  the 
demon,"  said  Abdulla,  "  and  thy  voice  soundeth 
afar  off,  even  as  the  voice  of  one  crying  for 
water  from  the  flames  of  the  nethermost  pit. 
Know  that  he  to  whom  thou  speakest  is  of 
them  that  walk  in  the  light ;  and  what  have 
these  to  do  with  the  delicacies  of  the  Franks  ? 
Verily,  1  understand  not  thy  topic,  having 
heard  but  a  rumour  thereof  among  the  con- 
versations of  the  ignorant." 

*'  O  despiser  of  the  knowledge  that  sweetens 
life,"  said  the  woman,  "  verily,  I  deem  thee  a 
man  of  limited  information  and  degenerate 
wit.  But  hearken  unto  my  words,  and  I  will 
enlighten  thee  concerning  the  topic  of  our 
discourse,  that  ignorance  may  excuse  thee  no 
further.     Know,  then,  that  the  delicacies  of  the 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE  WATER-SKIN"     161 

Franks  are  of  many  kinds,  arranged  in  boxes 
that  are  tied  with  silver  cords.  And  the  chief 
of  them  all  is  a  thing  of  two  natures,  cunningly 
blended,  whereof  one  nature  appertaineth  to 
the  outer  shell,  and  the  other  to  the  inner 
substance.  The  outer  shell  tasteth  bitter,  and 
the  colour  is  of  the  second  degree  of  black- 
ness, like  unto  the  skin  of  the  Ethiopian 
eunuch.  The  inner  substance  is  sweeter  than 
the  honeycomb,  and  white  as  the  wool  of 
Helbon,  interspersed  with  all  manner  of  nuts. 
This  is  the  chief  among  the  delicacies  of  the 
Franks ;  and  such  is  the  marvel  of  the  blending 
of  the  natures  that  the  palate  knoweth  neither 
the  bitterness  of  the  shell,  nor  the  sweetness  of 
the  kernel,  but  a  third  flavour  of  more  eminent 
rank,  to  which  Allah  hath  appointed  no  name. 
Hie  thee,  therefore,  O  man  of  no  excuse,  and 
buy  from  them  that  sell." 

"  That  for  which  thou  askest,"  said  AbduUa, 
"  is  utterly  beneath  the  dignity  of  the  enlight- 
ened to  give  thee.  Ask  for  the  wisdom  of 
the  ancients  and  thou  shalt  have  it.     Ask  for 

the  revelation  of  things  hidden,  and  it  shall 

11 


leSt  ALL   MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

be  accorded  thee.  But  the  delicacies  of  the 
Franks,  cunningly  blended  as  to  their  two 
natures,  and  arranged  in  boxes  that  are  tied 
with  silver  cords,  shalt  thou  in  no  wise 
receive." 

"  O  raiser  of  false  expectations,"  cried  the 
lady,  "and  betrayer  of  her  that  has  trusted 
thee,  among  all  the  sons  of  Adam  there  is 
none  more  utterly  contemptible  than  thou. 
In  the  dignity  of  thy  carriage  thou  appearest 
unto  me  as  a  thing  abhorred ;  I  like  not 
thy  wisdom ;  I  have  no  fellowship  with  thy 
knowledge,  and  I  despise  the  insolent  shining 
of  thy  inner  light." 

"  O  woman  of  a  light  mind  and  a  debased 
appetite,"  said  AbduUa,  "  thy  wits  have  gone 
astray,  and  thou  babblest  like  one  asleep,  con- 
founding the  things  that  are  not  with  the 
things  that  are.  AbduUa,  the  water-seller,  of 
whom  thou  speakest,  is  long  numbered  with 
the  dead,  and  the  waters  of  forgetfulness  have 
flowed  over  his  record.  Only  this  day  I  heard 
afar  off  the  last  rumour  which  the  world  hath 
concerning  him.     And  this  was  the  rumour: 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     163 

that,  on  a  day,  perceiving  one  athirst  in  the 
byways,  AbduUa  gave  him  freely  three  drops 
of  water  from  the  dregs  of  his  water-skin, 
thereby  earning  the  favour  of  Allah  (whose 
name  he  exalted  !)  and  the  promise  of  Paradise. 
But  going  forth  in  the  way  he  met  a  man 
having  the  Evil  Eye ;  and  lo,  it  straightway 
entered  into  the  heart  of  Abdulla  to  fill  his 
water-skin  with  the  sweetmeats  of  the  infidel, 
that  he  might  find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  a 
frivolous  woman — even  one  such  as  thou  art. 
And  God  (than  whom  there  is  no  other !), 
being  angered  at  the  folly  of  Abdulla,  made 
a  hole  in  the  skin,  and  sent  forth  the  Termin- 
ator of  Delights  to  end  his  days.  So  the 
water-seller  died,  and  the  weight  of  his  water- 
skin,  laden  with  sweetmeats,  went  forth  with 
his  soul.  And  this,  being  heavy,  dragged  him 
down  to  the  place  of  darkness,  where  the 
sweetmeats  fell  out  through  the  hole  in  the 
skin  and  were  eaten  of  devils." 

At  this  the  woman  banged-to  the  lattice 
and  disappeared. 


164  ALL  MEN   ARE  GHOSTS 

AbduUa  started  at  the  sound  of  the  closing 
lattice.  He  was  in  a  standing  posture  on  the 
roof  of  his  house.  The  mat  on  which  he 
slept  was  tossed  into  a  heap,  and  the  empty 
water-skin,  which  served  him  for  a  pillow, 
had  been  thrown  some  yards  from  its  place. 
AbduUa  looked  over  the  parapet  eastwards ; 
and  he  saw  the  desert  rose-red  in  the  dawn. 

For  a  long  time  AbduUa  walked  to  and  fro 
on  the  roof  of  his  house  pondering  the  things 
that  had  happened  to  him  both  in  the  day  and 
the  night.  To  piece  the  story  together  was 
no  easy  matter,  for  there  were  gaps  in  his 
memory,  and,  though  some  of  the  incidents 
were  clear,  others  were  perplexingly  dim. 
Moreover,  the  incidents  that  were  clear  seemed 
to  change  places  with  those  that  were  dim, 
so  that  the  line  between  his  dreams  and  his 
waking  experiences  was  now  in  one  place  and 
now  in  another.  He  could  not  be  sure,  for 
example,  that  the  fraying  of  his  water-skin 
belonged  to  the  one  class  rather  than  the 
other,  and  so  rapid  was  the  transition  from 
conviction  to   doubt  that  he    examined   the 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     165 

skin  no  less  than  five  times  to  satisfy  himself 
the  hole  was  there. 

The  longer  he  meditated  on  these  things 
the  greater  became  his  confusion  of  mind,  and 
by  the  time  the  sun  was  fully  risen  from  the 
desert  he  was  well-nigh  distracted  and  begin- 
ning to  doubt  of  his  own  identity.  In  vain 
did  he  repeat  the  Seven  Exorcisms,  the  Four 
Prayers,  the  Tecbir,  the  A  dan,  and  the  Two 
Professions  of  Faith,  calling  on  the  name  of 
Allah  between  the  exercises,  and  extolling  His 
majesty  every  time.  At  last  Abdulla  began 
to  wring  his  hands  and  to  cry  aloud  like  one 
bereft  of  intelligence. 

While  thus  lamenting,  it  suddenly  seemed 
to  him  that  one  from  a  far  distance  was 
calling  him  by  name.  Checking  his  cries,  he 
listened.  The  voice  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  presently  broke  out  in  familiar  tones  at 
his  very  side. 

''  What  aileth  thee,  O  Abdulla  ? "  said  the 
voice.  "  Hast  thou  partaken  of  the  intoxicat- 
ing drug  ?  Has  the  Evil  Eye  encountered  thee  ? 
Or  sufFerest  thou  from  a  visitation  of  God  ?  " 


166  ALL  MEN   ARE  GHOSTS 

*'  O  my  mother,"  answered  Abdulla,  "there 
is  none  else  besides  thee  under  heaven  who 
can  ease  my  pain  and  give  me  counsel  in  my 
perplexity.  The  sound  of  thy  voice  is  to  me 
like  running  waters  to  him  that  perisheth  of 
thirst.  Know  that  a  great  bewilderment  has 
overtaken  me,  so  that  I  discern  no  more 
the  things  that  are  not  from  the  things  that 
are." 

"  That  which  was  foreordained  has  come  to 
pass,"  said  the  woman.  "  Thou  wast  marked 
on  thy  forehead  in  the  hour  of  thy  birth  ;  and 
I  saw  it,  and  knew  that  things  hidden  from 
the  foundation  of  the  earth  would  be  revealed 
unto  thee.  Lo,  the  mark  is  on  thy  forehead 
still.  O  Abdulla,  my  son,  thou  art  no  longer 
a  seller  of  water,  but  a  seer  of  the  Inner 
Substance,  and  divulger  of  secrets." 

"  O  my  mother,"  said  Abdulla,  **  I  know 
not  what  thou  say  est.  The  Inner  Substance 
is  a  thing  whereof  I  have  never  heard,  and 
there  is  no  secret  that  I  can  divulge.  Only 
a  dream  of  the  night  season  has  troubled  me, 
and  even  now  it  seemeth  to  mingle  with  the 


'^THE   HOLE  IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     167 

things  that  God  makes  visible,  so  that  the 
desert  floats  Hke  a  yellow  cloud,  and  thine 
own  form  undulates  before  me  like  the 
morning  mist." 

"Thy  confusion,"  said  the  woman,  "is 
caused  by  the  intermingling  of  the  worlds, 
which  few  among  the  sons  of  men  are  per- 
mitted to  note ;  and  the  undulations  that 
bewilder  thee  are  made  by  the  river  of  Time. 
What  thou  seest  is  the  passing  of  that  which 
was  into  that  which  is,  and  of  that  which  is 
into  that  which  is  to  be.  But  rouse  thy  mind 
quickly,  O  my  son,  and  betake  thyself  on  the 
instant  to  a  skilful  Interpreter  of  Dreams,  that 
the  matter  be  resolved." 

"I  hear  and  obey,"  said  AbduUa;  and  he 
ran  down  the  steps  of  his  house  into  the  street. 

As  he  passed  through  the  door,  Selim  the 
courier  called  to  him  from  the  other  side. 

"  O  thou  that  dwellest  alone,"  cried  Selim, 
"hast  thou  taken  to  thyself  a  wife?  Has 
Zobeida  proved  gracious  ?  " 

"  Nay,  verily,"  answered  Abdulla.  "  I  have 
broken  a  vow  and  Zobeida  rejecteth  me  utterly. 


168  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

And  know,  O  Selim,  that  I  am  a  man  sore 
troubled  with  dreams  in  the  night  season,  so 
that  a  spirit  of  amazement  hath  possessed  me, 
and  I  discern  not  the  light  from  the  darkness, 
nor  the  shadow  from  the  substance." 

"  Thou  tellest  a  strange  thing,"  said  Selim. 
"Nevertheless,  I  heard  thee  speaking  scarce 
a  moment  gone  with  one  on  the  roof." 

"  My  mother  was  come  from  the  lower  parts 
of  the  house  to  comfort  me,"  said  Abdulla, 
"and  it  was  with  her  that  I  spake." 

"  Verily,  thou  art  bewitched,"  answered  the 
other.  "  More  than  twenty  years  have  passed 
since  thy  mother  entered  into  the  Mercy  of 
God,  and  her  body  is  dust  within  the  tomb." 

Abdulla's  answer  was  a  piteous  cry.  He 
leaned  for  support  against  the  wall  of  his 
house,  spreading  out  his  hands  like  one  who 
would  save  himself  from  falling. 

"  O  Selim,"  he  cried,  "  I  am  encompassed 
with  forgetfulness,  and  my  heart  is  eradicated 
within  me.  Said  I  not  unto  thee  that  I  dis- 
cern no  more  between  the  darkness  and  the  light, 
between  the  shadow  and  the  substance  ?     But 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"    169 

I  swear  to  thee,  by  the  beard  of  the  Prophet, 
that  she  with  whom  I  spake  was  the  mother 
who  bore  me.  She  stretched  out  her  arms 
towards  me  and  touched  the  mark  on  my  fore- 
head, and  bade  me  hasten  to  the  Interpreter  of 
Dreams  that  the  matter  might  be  resolved." 

"  It  is  a  sign  from  Allah,"  said  Selim  ;  "  and 
I  doubt  not  that  thou  wilt  die  the  death  at 
the  hand  of  the  infidel  and  be  received  into 
Paradise.  For  know  that  thou  hast  been 
called  two  days  ago,  and  the  sergeant  is  even 
now  seeking  for  thee." 

"  That  also  1  had  forgotten,"  said  Abdulla. 
*'  I  will  hasten  forthwith  to  the  Interpreter  of 
Dreams,  and  thereafter  I  will  report  me  to  the 
sergeant.  And  the  rest  shall  be  as  Allah 
willeth." 

And  Abdulla  passed  on  his  way  to  the 
Interpreter  of  Dreams. 

Suddenly  he  realised  that  his  path  was 
blocked  by  a  crowd,  and  looking  up  he  saw 
above  him,  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  the 
lattice  of  Zobeida.     "  Verily,"  he  thought,  "  I 


170  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

have  made  a  long  circuit ;  for  this  house  heth 
not  in  the  way." 

Loud  cries  were  coming  from  the  house, 
mingled  with  curses  and  the  sound  of  hands 
beaten  against  the  wall.  As  soon  as  Abdulla 
appeared,  one  of  the  crowd  called  out  towards 
the  lattice : 

"  O  woman  that  cursest  in  the  darkness, 
come  now  to  the  light,  that  we  may  hear  thy 
maledictions  more  plainly,  and  be  refreshed  by 
the  beauty  of  thy  countenance.  Lo,  he  who 
is  thy  enemy  passeth  even  now  beneath  the 
window.  Come  forth,  then,  and  the  sight  of 
him  shall  be  as  a  fire  in  thy  bones,  inspiring 
thy  tongue  to  the  invention  of  disastrous 
epithets  and  calamitous  imprecations.  And 
we,  on  our  part,  will  hold  him  fast,  even  the 
accursed  Abdulla,  that  he  run  not  away  till  his 
destiny  is  pronounced  and  his  doom  completed." 

At  this  the  lattice  was  burst  open,  and 
Zobeida,  tearing  aside  her  veil,  displayed  a 
countenance  of  wrath.  Her  hair  was  dis- 
hevelled, her  cheeks  were  soiled  with  ashes 
and  tears,  her  eyes  were  like  coals  of  fire,  and 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"    171 

her  voice  hissed  and  rang  like  the  sword  of  a 
slayer  in  the  day  of  battle. 

"  O  Abdulla,"  she  cried,  "  of  a  truth  thou 
art  the  Emperor  of  Uars  and  the  Sultan  of 
rogues.  May  the  Abaser  of  Pride  rub  thy 
nose  in  the  dust ! " 

"  O  my  mistress,"  answered  Abdulla, 
"impose  upon  thyself,  I  beseech  thee,  the 
obligation  of  good  manners." 

"  Dog  and  son  of  a  dog "  cried  Zobeida. 

But  Abdulla  heard  no  more.  A  distant  con- 
fusion of  sounds  had  arisen.  It  drew  nearer 
with  amazing  rapidity,  and  finally  broke  forth 
into  the  tramp  of  marching  feet,  the  rumbling 
of  wheels,  and  the  booming  of  a  drum.  The 
houses  melted  away,  the  sound  of  Zobeida's 
voice  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  and  the  knot 
of  bystanders  was  gone. 

Abdulla  sprang  to  attention  and  looked 
about  him.  He  was  in  the  main  street  of 
the  city,  and  opposite  was  the  house  of  the 
Interpreter  of  Dreams.  Coming  down  the 
street  was  a  regiment  of  Turkish  infantry, 
with    a   battery    of  guns    following    behind. 


17«  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

And  a  dim  memory  passed,  like  a  swift 
shadow,  over  the  mind  of  AbduUa. 

For  an  instant  he  was  bemused,  and  one 
who  passed  by  heard  him  muttering  broken 
words.  "  The  long  way  round,"  he  murmured  ; 
"  the  lattice  of  Zobeida — a  caravan  of  camels 
laden  with  sweetmeats — dog  and  the  son  of 
a  dog."  Then  a  wind  passed  over  his  face, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  thinking 
foolishly.  "Well  for  me,"  he  replied,  "that 
I  went  not  round  by  the  house  of  Zobeida. 
For  the  time  is  short  and  I  too  am  called." 
And  with  that  he  crossed  over,  making  haste 
that  he  might  reach  the  other  side  before  the 
marching  column  blocked  the  street. 

The  house  of  the  Interpreter  was  built  after 
the  European  fashion,  and  on  the  door  was  a 
large  brass  knocker  after  the  manner  of  the 
Franks.  AbduUa  stretched  forth  his  hand,  and 
was  about  to  raise  the  knocker  when  one  plucked 
him  by  the  sleeve.  Turning  round  he  saw  a 
man  in  the  uniform  of  an  officer  of  artillery. 

'Wherefore  hast  thou  not  reported  thy- 
self? '  said  the  officer.     "  Thy  name  was  called 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"    173 

two  days  ago,  and  verily  thou  runnest  a  risk 
of  being  shot." 

"  O  my  master,  a  bewilderment  hath  over- 
taken me,"  said  Abdulla,  "  so  that  I  forget 
all  things  and  know  not  the  day  from  the 
night.  Lo,  even  now,  I  seek  the  Interpreter 
of  Dreams  that  the  matter  may  be  resolved." 

"Thou  art  in  a  way  to  have  thy  dreams 
interpreted  by  a  bullet  through  the  brain," 
said  the  officer.  "  Leave  then  thy  dreaming 
and  hold  thy  peace ;  or,  by  Allah,  I  will 
proclaim  thy  cowardice  forthwith  and  order 
thy  arrest.     Fall  in  I " 

Abdulla  had  no  choice.  A  moment  later 
he  was  marching  in  step  with  a  squad  of 
reservists  who  followed  in  the  rear  of  the  guns. 

As  the  column  passed  down  the  street  a 
veiled  woman  stepped  out  from  the  edge  of 
the  crowd,  and,  taking  three  paces  by  the 
side  of  Abdulla,  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  Play  the  man." 

They  were  now  at  the  station,  entraining 
for  the  seat    of    war.      The    carriages    were 


174  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

crowded  with  shouting  soldiery,  and  many, 
unable  to  find  room  within,  had  clambered 
on  the  roofs.  Among  these  was  Abdulla, 
crouching  silent. 

Suddenly  a  man  in  European  costume  forced 
his  way  along  the  platform  and  called  him  by 
name. 

"Art  thou  Abdulla,  the  water-seller  of 
Damascus  ? "  said  the  man. 

"  I  am  he." 

"  Come  down,  then,  that  I  may  speak 
with  thee.  And  hasten,  for  the  time  is 
short." 

*'  Stay  thou  behind  and  let  these  go,"  said 
the  European,  when  Abdulla  had  descended 
from  the  roof.  "  I  will  purchase  thy  release 
from  the  Pasha.  Nay,  the  matter  is  already 
arranged,  and  none  of  these  will  hinder  thee 
if  thou  stay  est." 

"  And  wherefore  should  I  do  this  ? "  asked 
Abdulla. 

"  For  a  weighty  and  good  reason,"  said  the 
European.  "  Know  that  the  fame  of  thee  has 
reached  to  London,  to  Paris,  to  New   York. 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     175 

Thou  art  spoken  of  as  one  who  hath  a  power 
upon  thee  which  may  aid  in  opening  up  the 
things  that  have  been  hidden  from  the  founda- 
tion of  the  earth.  And  the  probers  of  secrets 
have  sent  me  that  I  may  search  thee  out,  and 
engage  thee  at  a  great  salary,  and  take  thee 
with  me  to  the  seats  of  the  learned  and  the 
cities  of  the  West." 

"  Thou  art  in  error,"  said  Abdulla,  "  for 
power  such  as  thou  speakest  of  belongeth  not 
to  me.  Of  a  truth,  T  am  one  who  walketh  in 
a  great  bewilderment,  and  the  spirit  of  forget- 
fulness  hath  overpowered  me.  But  withal  I  am 
a  common  man,  of  whom  Allah  hath  created 
millions,  and  it  was  but  yesterday  I  was  seeking 
the  Interpreter  of  Dreams,  that  I  might  pay 
him  the  fee  and  have  the  matter  resolved." 

"  I  am  the  Interpreter  of  Dreams  whom  thou 
soughtest,"  said  the  other,  "  and  I  dwell  in  the 
house  built  in  the  European  fashion,  with  the 
great  knocker  of  brass,  after  the  manner  of 
the  Franks." 

"  Thy  name  ? "  said  Abdulla. 

"  My    name   is    Professor   " — but    an 


176  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

escape  of  steam  from  the  panting  locomotive 
drowned  the  next  word, — "and  I  am  come 
from  I^ondon  to  fetch  thee." 

"  I  go  not  with  thee,"  said  Abdulla,  "  for 
thou  seemest  to  be  one  whom  the  Deluder  of 
Intelligence  is  leading  astray.  I  have  but 
dreams  to  tell  thee;  and  if  thou  wantest 
dreams,  hast  thou  none  of  thine  own  ?  Verily, 
a  dream  is  but  a  little  thing." 

"  Thou  errest,"  shouted  the  other  —  for 
Abdulla  had  now  climbed  back  on  to  the  roof, 
— "a  dream  is  a  thing  more  wonderful  than 
aught  else  the  Creator  hath  appointed,  and 
there  is  none  among  the  sons  of  Adam  who 
understandeth  the  coming  and  the  going 
thereof.     But  if  thou  wilt  come  with  me " 

The  Interpreter  broke  off  in  the  middle  of 
his  sentence,  for  the  train  was  moving  out  of 
the  station,  and  he  saw  that  Abdulla  could  no 
longer  hear  the  words. 

The  battery  to  which  Abdulla  was  attached 
lay  in  a  hollow  to  the  rear  of  the  main  battle, 
awaiting  orders  to  take  up  a  position  in  the 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"    177 

front.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  been 
under  fire.  Dead  bodies,  horridly  mangled,  lay 
around,  and  a  straggling  throng  of  wounded 
men,  some  silent,  some  unmanned  by  agony, 
and  all  terrible  to  look  upon,  was  passing  by. 
As  Abdulla  saw  these  things,  the  fear  of  death 
grew  strong  within  him.  His  body  trembled 
and  his  face  was  blanched. 

Seeing  his  state  his  companions  began  to 
deride  him.  Presently  a  gaily  dressed  officer, 
passing  where  he  was,  paused  in  front  of  him, 
and  drawing  a  small  mirror  from  his  pocket 
held  it  in  front  of  the  trembling  man,  and  said  : 

"Look  in  this,  O  Abdulla,  and  thou  wilt 
see  the  face  of  a  coward." 

Abdulla  looked  in  the  mirror  and  saw  there 
the  very  face  which  had  confronted  him  not 
long  ago  in  the  shop  window  of  the  Greek. 

The  soldiers  around  him  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter  as  Abdulla  looked  in  the  mirror ;  but 
he  heard  them  not. 

He  was  busy  in  inward  colloquy.     *'  O  thou 

that  tremblest  in  thy  body,"  he  was  saying  to 

himself,   "O    Abdulla    the    coward,   hearken 

12 


178  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

unto  me.  Behold  yon  rider  coming  swiftly, 
and  know,  O  thou  craven  carcase,  that  he 
bringeth  the  order  to  advance.  Thinkest 
thou  to  stay  behind,  and  then  run  away 
stealthily,  and  get  thee  back  to  thy  water- 
selling  in  Damascus  and  to  thy  dallyings  with 
a  woman  ?  Yea,  verily,  thou  thinkest  it ;  and 
even  now  contrivest  within  thyself  how  thou 
mayest  steal  away  and  not  be  seen.  But  know 
thou  that  I  who  speak  to  thee  will  suffer  not 
thy  cowardice.  I  will  force  thee  presently  to 
carry  thy  trembling  limbs  to  yonder  line, 
whence  come  these  whom  thou  seest  in  their 
pain.  Thither  will  I  take  thee,  and  1  will  hold 
thee  fast  in  a  place  where  death  cometh  to 
four  of  every  five.  Not  a  step  backward 
shalt  thou  go.  Nay,  rather,  I  will  blow  a 
flame  through  thy  nostrils  into  the  marrow 
of  thy  bones,  driving  thee  forward,  until  I 
have  thee  firm  in  the  very  hottest  of  the  fire. 
See,  the  signal  rises !  Hark,  the  trumpet 
sounds !  Up  then,  thou  quaking  carrion,  for 
thy  hour  is  come. — Well  done !  Those  behind 
thee  are  taking  note  that  thou  trem  blest  no 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN''    179 

more  !     By  Allah,  I  have  conquered  thee  and 
have  thee  utterly  in  my  power ! " 

Every  man  was  in  his  place.  AbduUa,  firm 
and  ready,  the  rebuking  voice  now  silent  within 
him,  sat  on  the  leading  gun-horse ;  the  traces 
that  bound  it  to  the  gun  were  already  taut, 
and  the  whip-hand  of  the  driver  was  aloft  in 
air.  The  word  is  given,  the  whips  descend, 
and  the  whole  thundering  train  of  men  and 
beasts,  with  AbduUa  at  its  head,  sweeps  for- 
ward to  the  place  of  sacrifice. 

The  battle  was  lost,  and  the  long  ridge  on 
which  Abdulla's  battery  had  been  posted  was 
carpeted  with  dead  and  dying  men.  A  pall  of 
yellow  smoke,  broken  from  moment  to  moment 
by  the  flashes  of  exploding  shrapnel,  hung 
over  the  ridge,  and  a  blazing  house  immedi- 
ately behind  the  position  shed  a  copper-coloured 
glare  over  the  appalling  scene.  A  cold  and 
cursed  rain  was  falling,  and  stricken  men,  in 
extremities  of  thirst,  were  lapping  pools  of 
water  defiled  with  their  own  blood. 

Of  the  twelve  guns  that  formed  the  battery, 


180  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

all  were  dismantled  save  one,  and  by  this 
there  stood  a  solitary  man,  the  only  upright 
figure  from  end  to  end  of  the  ridge.  It  was 
AbduUa.  For  five  hours  he  had  done  his 
duty  untouched  by  shot,  shell,  or  bayonet. 
He  had  continued  the  service  of  his  gun  till 
the  last  round  of  ammunition  was  expended  ; 
and  when  a  cry  arose  among  the  survivors 
that  they  should  save  themselves,  he  had 
watched  the  last  stragglers  depart  and  refused 
to  stir  from  his  post.  And  now  he  stood 
inactive  and  motionless,  alone  in  a  copper- 
coloured  wilderness  of  agony  and  death. 

Twice  the  enemy  had  attempted  by 
desperate  charges  to  storm  the  hill,  and, 
save  for  the  lull  in  the  artillery  fire  which 
preceded  these  attacks,  the  work  of  death  had 
hardly  ceased  for  a  moment.  Even  now  it 
still  went  on,  slaying  those  who  were  half  slain. 
Unable  to  see  clearly  the  state  of  things  on 
the  ridge,  or  behind  it,  and  unaware  that  the 
defence  was  totally  annihilated,  the  enemy  had 
hardly  slackened  his  fire.  Scores  of  shrapnel 
were  bursting  overhead,  and  the   singing  of 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     181 

the  rifle  bullets  was  like  the  hum  of  bees  in 
swarming  time.  As  the  shells  exploded  and 
the  pitiless  missiles  came  thrashing  down, 
Abdulla  noticed  how,  after  each  explosion, 
some  portion  of  the  human  carpet  would  toss 
and  undulate  for  a  moment,  as  though  the 
wind  had  got  under  it,  and  then  subside  again 
into  its  place.  The  numbness  and  exhaustion 
of  other  faculties  had  liberated  his  powers  of 
observation,  and  at  that  moment  they  were 
abnormally  acute. 

Fear,  even  the  memory  of  fear,  had  long 
departed,  and  of  mental  distress  there  was 
none,  save  a  sense  of  immobility  and  power- 
lessness,  such  as  a  man  may  have  in  an  ugly 
dream.  Abdulla  leaned  on  the  wheel  of  the 
gun-carriage,  gazing  on  the  scene  around  him 
as  a  spectacle  to  be  studied ;  and  he  watched 
the  shells  bursting  overhead  with  no  more  con- 
cern than  he  would  have  felt  for  a  passing 
flight  of  birds.  He  was  aware  of  his  utter 
loneliness,  and  now  and  then  a  slight  stir  of 
self-compassion  would  ripple  the  lucid  depths 
of  his  consciousness.      With  a  certain  repug- 


188  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

nance,  also,  he  noticed  the  copper-coloured 
light,  which  shed  its  glare  in  every  direction 
as  far  as  he  could  see. 

The  tensest  hours  of  his  life,  during  which 
he  had  exerted  his  body  with  furious  energy, 
and  his  senses  had  been  incessantly  assailed 
with  every  kind  of  shock,  had  ended  in  a  feel- 
ing, amounting  almost  to  conviction,  that  the 
events  in  which  he  had  participated,  the  deeds 
he  had  done,  and  the  spectacle  now  before  him 
were  the  tissue  of  a  dream. 

Blustering  facts  that  bludgeon  and  bombard 
the  senses,  often  provoke  us,  by  the  very 
violence  of  their  self-announcement,  to  suspect 
them  as  illusory.  Reality  is  a  low- voiced, 
soft-footed  thing;  a  mean  between  two 
extremes,  clothed  at  all  times  in  the  garments 
of  modesty  and  reserve,  which  neither  strives 
nor  cries  nor  lifts  up  its  voice  in  the  streets. 
But  when  the  gods  are  drunk  and  the  heavens 
in  uproar,  and  the  thing  called  "fact"  is 
unrestrained,  ranting  and  storming  about  the 
stage  like  an  ill-mannered  actor — then  it  is 
that  the  cup  begins  to  pass  away  from  us,  and 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN''     183 

a  still  small  voice  whispers  within  that  the 
whole  performance  is  a  masquerade. 

Thus  had  it  happened  to  AbduUa.  Dreamer 
as  he  was,  he  had  never  yet  been  able  to  detect 
himself  in  the  act  of  dreaming.  But  now  the 
waking  state  was  over-wakeful,  and  at  the 
very  moment  when  each  nerve  in  his  body  was 
strung  to  utmost  tension,  and  the  sense  organs 
in  full  commission,  and  fact  in  its  most  brutal 
form  thundering  on  the  gates  of  his  mind,  there 
came  to  him  a  calm  that  was  more  than  vacancy, 
a  conviction  that  he  was  in  the  land  of  dreams, 
and  a  peaceful  foreshadowing  that  he  would 
soon  awake. 

"  And  yet,"  he  thought,  "  it  is  weary  work, 
this  waiting  for  the  spell  to  break.  Ha,  that 
one  would  have  done  it,  had  I  stood  a  span 
further  to  the  left !  Why  cannot  they  wake 
me  ?  Are  not  a  hundred  pieces  of  artillery  suffi- 
cient to  rouse  one  solitary  man  from  his  dreams  ? 
Stay  I  What  if  1  am  wakened  already  ?  And 
what  if  this  be  hell  ?  If  so,  is  it  so  much 
worse  than  earth?  But  please  Allah  that  I 
stand  not  thus  for  all  eternity,  waiting  for  the 


184  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

dream  to  pass.  Ah !  I  was  hit  that  time  " — 
and  he  put  his  hand  to  the  region  of  his  heart. 
"A  mere  graze.  Perhaps  the  next  will  do 
better.  Allah  send  me  a  thing  to  do  I  Ho, 
thou  Selim !  Hast  thou  life  in  thee  to  stand 
upright  and  do  a  thing?  1  saw  thee  raise 
thyself  a  moment  ago.  If  thou  hast  strength, 
bestir  thyself  a  little,  and  thou  and  I  will  find 
another  round,  and  fire  a  last  shot  before  we 
pass." 

Selim  the  courier  was  lying  behind  the  gun 
with  a  dozen  others,  dead  or  wounded  to 
death.  AbduUa  had  hardly  finished  speaking 
when  a  shrapnel  burst  over  the  heap,  and 
Selim,  who  had  been  lying  face  downward  on 
the  top,  flung  himself  round  in  the  last  agony. 
As  the  bullets  struck,  the  whole  heap  seemed 
to  disperse,  the  bodies  spreading  outward  into 
a  ring  with  a  hollow  space  in  the  midst. 

Then  AbduUa  saw  a  thing  that  caused  his 
heart  to  leap  for  joy.  Lying  in  the  hollow 
made  by  the  dispersion  of  the  bodies  was 
a  round  of  ammunition  which  some  man 
had   been  carrying   at  the  moment   he   was 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     185 

stricken  down,  and  which  had  hitherto  been 
covered  up  by  the  dead.  At  the  sight  of  it,  a 
sudden  inspiration  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  upon 
AbduUa's  dream.  The  sense  of  immobility 
was  gone.  "  By  Allah,  thou  art  alive  and 
awake  !  "  he  cried,  addressing  himself.  "  Quick, 
thou  slave  of  a  body  !  Thou  hast  yet  strength 
in  thee  to  open  the  breech-piece  of  the  gun, 
and  the  cartridge  is  not  so  heavy  but  that 
these  arms  can  lift  it.     Up,  then,  and  act ! " 

He  sprang  forward.  Quick  as  thought  he 
seized  the  cartridge  and  carried  his  burden 
back  to  the  gun. 

Then  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  grasp 
the  lever  which  controlled  the  mechanism  of 
the  breech.  But  before  his  fingers  closed  on 
the  metal  he  paused  for  the  briefest  instant  to 
look  around  him.  In  one  glance  he  took  in 
the  whole  scene  in  all  its  extent  and  detail 
— the  long  ridge  under  the  copper-coloured 
light,  the  carpet  of  moaning  or  silent  forms, 
the  dead  body  of  Selim,  the  dismantled  guns, 
the  valley  below,  the  enemy's  position  on  the 
further  side,  and  the  red  spurts  of  flame  from 


186  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

his  artillery.  He  noted  also  that  the  rain 
had  ceased  and  the  setting  sun  had  broken 
through  the  cloud. 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  the  vast  view  seemed  to 
fall  away  into  an  immeasurable  distance,  and, 
as  a  landscape  contracts  when  seen  from  the 
wrong  end  of  the  telescope,  drew  inwards 
from  its  edges  with  incredible  rapidity  until 
it  occupied  no  more  space  than  is  enclosed 
by  the  circumference  of  the  smallest  coin. 
And  in  the  same  flash  of  time  it  was  gone 
altogether. 

As  it  went,  AbduUa  felt  his  fingers  close 
on  the  cold  metal. 

They  closed  on  the  metal,  and  Abdulla  saw 
without  the  least  surprise  that  the  thing  he 
held  in  his  hand  was  the  knocker  of  brass  on 
the  door  of  the  Interpreter  of  Dreams. 

He  knew  no  shock,  asked  himself  no  ques- 
tions, perceived  no  breach  of  continuity.  He 
lifted  the  knocker,  and  its  fall  sounded  in  the 
street  of  Damascus  at  the  very  instant  that  the 
boom  of  the  bursting  shell,  which  had  blown 


"THE   HOLE   IN   THE   WATER-SKIN"    187 

the  water-seller  to  fragments,  was  reverberating 
over  Tchatalja. 

Abdulla  knocked.  As  he  waited  for  the 
door  to  open  he  looked  up  and  down  the 
street.  He  had  arrived  in  Damascus  over- 
night, and  his  surroundings  were  yet  strange 
to  him.  Nevertheless,  as  he  continued  to  look 
at  the  houses  and  the  passers-by,  a  suspicion 
crossed  his  mind  that  he  had  been  in  this  place 
before.  "Perhaps  I  have  dreamed  of  such  a 
place,"  he  thought.  "But  surely  the  face  of 
yonder  man  is  familiar.  Where  did  I  see  one 
like  him  ?  In  Paris  ?  In  London  ?  Ho  thou, 
with  the  courier's  badge  on  thine  arm  1  A 
word  with  thee." 

The  man  paused  at  the  doorstep,  and  Ab- 
dulla looked  him  full  in  the  face.  Instantly 
his  mind  became  confused,  his  tongue  began 
to  stammer,  and  he  heard  himself  speaking  of 
he  knew  not  what.  "  Hast  thou  life  in  thee  ?  " 
he  said.     "  If  so,  bestir  thyself  and  thou  and 

I "    But  the  words  broke  off,  and  Abdulla 

stood  mouthing. 

"Thou  babblest  like  one  intoxicated,"  said 


188  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

the  man.  "May  Allah  preserve  thy  wits!" 
And  he  passed  on. 

The  door  opened,  and  Abdulla's  mind  be- 
came clear.  A  moment  later  he  stood  in  the 
presence  of  the  Interpreter  of  Dreams. 

"  Who  art  thou  ? "  said  the  Interpreter, 
"  and  what  is  the  occasion  of  thy  coming  ? " 

"  I  am  a  Cairene,"  said  Abdulla,  "  born  of 
Syrian  parentage  in  this  city,  but  taken  hence 
when  1  was  an  infant  of  five  years.  I  am 
come  to  Damascus  for  a  purpose  which  thou 
and  I  have  in  common.  I,  too,  am  a  student 
of  dreams." 

"  Of  which  kind  ? "  asked  the  Interpreter. 
"  For  know  that  dreams  are  of  two  kinds : 
dreams  of  the  worlds  that  were,  and  dreams 
of  the  worlds  that  are  to  be.  Of  which  hast 
thou  knowledge  ? " 

"  Of  a  world  that  was,"  said  Abdulla. 

"Thou  hast  chosen  a  thankless  study," 
answered  the  other.  "Few  will  trust  thy 
discoveries.  For  a  thousand  who  will  believe 
thee  if  thou  teachest  of  a  world  that  is  to 
be,  there  is  scarce  one  who  will  listen  if  thou 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN '^    189 

speakest  of  a  world  that  was.  But  tell  me 
thy  history,  and  name  thy  qualifications." 

"  I  have  been  educated  in  the  Universities 
of  the  West,"  said  Abdulla,  "  and  there  I  sat 
at  the  feet  of  one  who  taught  me  a  doctrine 
which  he  had  learnt  from  a  master  of  the 
ancient  time.  And  the  doctrine  was  this : 
that  worlds  without  end  lie  enfolded  one  with- 
in the  other  like  the  petals  of  a  rose ;  and  the 
next  world  after  differs  from  the  next  world 
before  no  more  than  a  full  water-skin  differs 
from  itself  when  two  drops  of  water  have 
fallen  from  its  mouth.  *  The  world,'  taught 
the  master,  'is  a  memory  and  a  dream,  and 
at  every  stage  of  its  existence  it  beholds  the 
image  of  its  past  and  the  fainter  image  of  its 
future  reflected  as  in  a  glass.'  " 

"  And  why  makest  thou  the  world  that  was 
before  of  more  account  than  the  world  that 
comes  after  ? " 

"  I  said  not  that  I  made  it  of  more  account," 
answered  Abdulla,  "but  that  my  knowledge 
was  of  this  rather  than  of  that.  But  know 
that  I  am  a  drearner  of  dreams,  and  it  is  the 


190  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

world  before  that  my  dreams  have  revealed 
to  me." 

*'  Tell  me  thy  dreams." 

"  It  is  of  them  that  I  came  to  speak  with 
thee.  There  is  one  dream  that  ever  recurreth 
both  in  the  day  and  the  night.  Seventy  times 
seven  have  I  seen  a  frayed  water-skin,  having 
a  hole  in  a  certain  part,  no  larger  than  an 
olive-stone." 

"That  is  a  small  matter,"  said  the  Inter- 
preter, "  and  such  things  concern  us  not.  But 
I  suspect  that  thou  art  not  at  the  end  of  thy 
story.  For,  verily,  thou  hast  not  travelled 
from  the  cities  of  the  West  to  speak  of  a 
thing  so  slight.  Say,  therefore,  what  has 
brought  thee  to  Damascus." 

"  That  also  I  would  tell  thee ;  for  it  is  a 
matter  to  be  pondered.  Thou  art  of  the  wise, 
and  knowest,  therefore,  that  there  is  a  virtue 
in  places  and  a  power  in  localities.  In  one, 
the  light  of  the  soul  is  extinguished ;  in  an- 
other, it  is  kindled ;  in  one,  the  reason  dies ; 
in  another,  the  half-thought  becomes  a  whole, 
and  the  doctrine  that  is  dimly  apprehended 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     191 

becomes  clear.  Now,  being  in  the  city  of 
Paris,  I  conversed  with  one  of  the  French 
who  had  visited  the  holy  places  of  his  religion, 
where  he  had  meditated  in  solitude  and  seen 
visions  and  dreamed  dreams ;  and  I  told  him 
that  I  had  a  doctrine  newly  born,  half  grown. 
*0  AbduUa,'  he  said,  'there  is  a  virtue  in 
places  and  a  power  in  localities.  Go  thou, 
therefore,  to  the  city  of  Damascus,  for  that  is 
a  place  where,  in  days  that  are  gone,  the  half- 
thought  became  a  whole,  and  the  doctrine 
dimly  apprehended  became  clear.  Put  thy- 
self on  the  way  to  Damascus  and  await  the 
issue.' " 

At  these  words  the  Interpreter  rose  from  his 
seat  and  paced  the  room  in  thought. 

*'  The  man  of  whom  thou  speakest,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  is  known  to  me ;  and  many  are  they 
whom  he  has  guided  to  this  place.  Rightly 
say  est  thou  that  there  is  a  virtue  in  places  and 
a  power  in  localities.  And  here  the  power 
still  lingers  which  the  world  lost  when  man- 
kind took  to  babbling.  Thy  reason  for  com- 
ing hither  is  mine  also.     Seest  thou  not  that 


192  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

I  have  made  my  dwelling  in  the  Street  that  is 
called  Straight  ? " 

"  I  see  and  understand,"  said  Abdulla. 

There  was  another  pause,  and  again  the  In- 
terpreter paced  the  room.     Then  he  resumed  : 

"  Between  thee  and  me  there  is  need  of 
little  speech  to  attain  a  comprehension,  and 
the  short  sentence  meaneth  more  than  the 
long  explanation.  Nevertheless,  I  would  fain 
hear  the  rest  of  thy  story.  Proceed  then,  and 
tell  me  of  the  dreams  that  came  to  thee  on 
the  way  to  Damascus." 

"  On  the  way  itself,"  said  Abdulla,  "  there 
came  no  dreams.  But  this  very  day  I  sat  by 
the  bank  of  the  river,  full  of  thought,  and 
methinks  sleep  overpowered  me  —  though  I 
know  not.  And  there  came  a  poor  man 
carrying  a  water-skin,  and  I,  looking  upon 
him,  saw  that  his  face  was  like  unto  mine 
own,  but  marred  by  his  toil  and  his  poverty. 
And  the  man  sat  himself  down,  leaning 
against  a  palm-tree  on  the  side  away  from 
the  sun,  and  slept.  Then  I  arose  and  stood 
before    him,    and    expounded    to    him     my 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     193 

doctrine,  and  he  seemed  as  one  that  saw 
and  heard,  though  asleep.  And  when  his 
eyes  were  opened  he  saw  me  no  more,  but 
took  up  his  water-skin  and  filled  it  at  the 
river,  making  mention  of  the  name  of  God. 

"  I  followed  him  into  the  city,  and  saw  one 
thrust  him  against  the  wall  so  that  his  water- 
skin  was  frayed.  Thereafter  the  water-skin 
burst,  and  a  hole  appeared  in  a  certain  part 
the  size  of  an  olive-stone,  and  the  remnant  of 
the  water  flowed  forth.  But,  passing  a  certain 
street,  a  woman  called  to  him  to  give  her  little 
ones  to  drink.  And  I,  being  hard  by,  and 
seeming  to  know  the  woman,  whispered  to  the 
man  that  he  should  pass  his  hands  craftily  over 
the  skin,  if  peradventure  a  drop  remained  to 
moisten  the  lips  of  them  that  cried  out  for  the 
thirst.  But  none  remained,  and  the  man  went 
on  his  way  sorrowing. 

"  Then  I  lost  him  for  a  while ;  but  as  night 

fell  I  found  him  again,  standing  in  front  of  a 

glass  window  and  meditating  a  thing  that  was 

dishonest.     And  the  man  looking  through  the 

window  saw   me  standing  among  the  goods 

13 


194  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

that  were  in  the  shop.  Whereupon  he  changed 
his  design  and  ran  away. 

"  I  wandered  through  the  streets  of  the  city, 
and  passing  by  a  certain  house,  a  frivolous 
woman  looked  out  from  a  lattice  and  reviled 
me.  I  understood  not  the  things  that  she 
spake,  and  having  answered  the  woman  I 
departed.  Then  I  bethought  me  that  she 
had  taken  me  for  another,  and,  remember- 
ing that  the  face  of  the  water-seller  was  like 
unto  mine  own,  I  surmised  that  it  was  he. 

"  Suddenly,  I  know  not  how,  I  found  myself 
in  a  place  of  battle,  armed  like  the  rest,  and, 
turning  aside,  I  saw,  standing  among  the 
harnessed  horses  of  a  gun-team,  the  man  whose 
water-selling  I  had  watched  in  the  city.  And 
the  spirit  of  fear  was  upon  him  ;  his  counten- 
ance was  blanched  and  his  body  all  aquake ; 
and  I,  ashamed  that  one  who  bore  my  own 
semblance  should  stand  disgraced  among  his 
fellows,  rebuked  him  for  his  cowardice ;  and 
methought  I  blew  a  fire  through  his  nostrils 
into  the  marrow  of  his  bones.  Then  the  man 
took  courage  and,  mounting  his   horse  with 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     195 

alacrity,  went  forward  with  the  bravest  to  the 
place  of  death. 

"  Thereafter  I  saw  him  no  more.  But  this 
very  hour,  even  as  I  lifted  thy  knocker  of  brass, 
a  great  light  shone  round  about  me,  a  sound 
of  thunder  shook  the  air,  and  a  voice  said, 
*  Lo  I  thy  broken  water-skin  is  mended  and 
full  of  water.  Go  forth,  therefore,  and  give  to 
them  that  are  athirst.'  Whereupon  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  half-thought  became  a  whole, 
and  the  doctrine  that  was  dimly  apprehended 
grew  clear.  And  now  I  am  a  man  prepared 
to  go  forward,  even  as  he  was  into  whom  I 
blew  the  breath  of  courage  on  the  field  of 
death.  A  thing  that  was  holding  me  back  is 
gone  from  me,  and  lo !  I  am  free." 

"  Perchance  one  has  ministered  unto  thee, 
even  as  thou  didst  minister  to  that  other  in  the 
hour  when  he  was  afraid,"  said  the  Interpreter. 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Abdulla.  "  But  did  I 
not  tell  thee  that  as  yet  I  have  no  knowledge 
of  the  world  that  will  be  ? " 

"The  knowledge  awaits  thee,  and  will 
begin  from  this  hour,"  said  the   Interpreter. 


196  ALL   MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

"  Most  assuredly  that  which  thou  tellest  is  an 
image  of  the  world  that  was ;  and  he  that 
dreameth  of  the  one  world  dreameth  also  in 
due  season  of  the  other.  But  hearken  now 
while  I  put  thee  to  the  question  ;  and  if  thou 
answerest  according  to  thy  doctrine,  peradven- 
ture  the  interpretation  of  thy  vision  will  appear 
in  the  issue." 

*'  Say  on,"  said  Abdulla. 

"This,  then,  is  the  question.  Thinkest 
thou,  O  Dreamer,  that  when  a  man  dies  and 
enters  Paradise,  he  knows  of  his  condition,  as 
who  should  say,  *  Lo,  I  am  now  a  disembodied 
spirit,  having  just  passed  through  the  article 
of  death,  and  these  before  me  are  the  Gates 
of  Heaven,  and  yonder  shining  thing  is  the 
Throne  of  God?'" 

"Nay,  verily,"  said  Abdulla,  "in  this  and 
in  every  world  the  Throne  of  God  is  revealed 
after  one  and  the  same  manner,  and  never  shall 
it  be  seen  in  any  world  save  by  such  as  follow 
there  the  Loyal  Path  whereby  it  is  found  in 
this.  And  he  who  beholdeth  not  the  Gates 
of  Paradise  in  the  world  where  he  is,  will  look 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     197 

for  them  in  vain  in  the  world  where  he  is 
to  be." 

"  Art  thou  willing  to  think,  then,  that  thou 
and  I  are  in  Paradise  even  at  this  hour  ? " 

"  Thou  hintest  at  the  doctrine  that  has  been 
revealed  to  me,"  said  the  other.  "It  may  be 
even  as  thou  sayest.  For  certain  am  I  that 
thou  and  I  have  died  many  deaths ;  and  as 
there  is  another  world  in  respect  of  this,  so 
is  this  world  another  in  respect  of  them  that 
went  before.  Great  is  the  error  which  deemeth 
that  the  number  of  the  worlds  is  but  two,  and 
that  death,  therefore,  cometh  once  only  to  a 
man,  when  he  passeth  from  the  first  to  the 
second.  Of  death,  as  of  life,  the  kinds  are 
innumerable ;  and  of  these,  that  which  de- 
stroyeth  the  body  at  the  end  is  only  one, 
and  perhaps  not  the  chief.  Whatsoever 
changeth  into  its  contrary  must  needs  die  in 
the  act ;  so  that  except  one  die,  grief  cannot 
pass  into  joy,  nor  darkness  into  light,  nor  evil 
into  good ;  neither  can  the  lost  be  found,  nor 
the  sleeper  awake.  Wherefore  it  may  be  that 
thou  and  I  are  in  Paradise  even  now." 


198  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

"Thou  speakest  to  the  question,"  said  the 
Interpreter.  "  Some  there  are,  as  thou  say  est, 
who,  being  in  Paradise  already,  will  still  be 
asking  whether  Paradise  awaits  them.  And 
if  the  enlightened  go  thus  astray,  how  much 
deeper  is  the  ignorance  of  the  darkened  I  For 
in  no  place,  O  AbduUa,  is  Hell  more  doubted 
of  than  in  Hell  itself." 

"  I  have  lived  in  the  cities  of  the  West  and 
have  observed  that  very  thing,"  said  Abdulla. 
"  Many  a  damned  soul  have  I  heard  making 
boast  of  his  good  estate,  and  many  a 
doubt  of  Judgment  shouted  forth  from  the 
very  flames  of  the  Pit.  For  how  shall  a 
man  know  when  he  is  now  dead  and  come  to 
Judgment  ?  Doth  he  live  in  his  dying,  and, 
taking  note  of  his  last  breath,  say  within  him- 
self, '  liO,  now  I  am  dead '  ?  And  if  he  know 
not  the  single  occasion  of  his  dying,  how 
should  he  remember  even  though  death 
worketh  upon  him  daily  and  passeth  over 
him  a  thousand  times?" 

"  Death  and  forgetting  are  one,"  said  the 
Interpreter,    "and    the    memory    of    dying 


"THE   HOLE   IN  THE   WATER-SKIN"     199 

perisheth  like  a  dream.  But  some  there  are 
to  whom  Allah  hath  appointed  a  station  at 
the  place  of  passage  and  set  as  watchmen  at 
the  interminghng  of  the  worlds.  These  pass 
to  and  fro  over  the  bridges,  gathering  tidings 
from  forgotten  realms ;  and  much  of  majesty 
and  worth  that  escapeth  the  common  sort  is 
apparent  unto  them.  And  of  such,  O  AbduUa, 
thy  dreams  declare  thee  to  be  one." 

"  Hast  thou  no  further  interpretation  ? " 
asked  AbduUa. 

"  Hark ! "  said  the  other.  "  The  full  inter- 
pretation cometh  even  now." 

And,  as  he  spoke,  the  brass  knocker  sounded 
on  the  door. 

Thus  endeth  "  The  Hole  in  the  Water-skin'' 


Ill 

DR   PIECRAFT  CLEARS   HIS   MIND 

Throughout  the  whole  of  this  long  prelection 
Dr  Phippeny  Pieeraft  had  scarcely  moved  a 
muscle,  listening  with  ever  deeper  attention  as 
the  story  went  on.  Once  only  had  he  inter- 
rupted the  reader. 

"  You  are  coming  now,"  he  had  said,  "  to 
the  deleted  passage  about  Dual  Personality. 
Don't  forget  to  read  it." 

**  Pardon  me,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I 
passed  that  point  some  minutes  since.  The 
writer  had  pencilled  against  the  passage,  *  Omity 
spoils  the  unity."  So,  from  respect  to  his  wishes, 
I  left  it  out." 

"  It  was  well  done,"  Pieeraft  had  answered. 

"  Unity  is  all-important.     Proceed." 

And  now,  the  reading  being  over,  the  two 
aoo 


DR  PIECRAFT  CLEARS   HIS   MIND     201 

men  sat  for  several  minutes  facing  one  another 
in  silence.     Presently  the  reader  said  : 

"  Well,  have  you  identified  the  author  ? " 

*'  I  have,"  said  Piecraft.  "  The  tale  is  a 
reminiscence  of  some  old  speculations  of  mine. 
I  wrote  every  word  of  it  myself,  and  I  finished 
it  last  night." 

"  How  came  you  to  think  that  it  was  written 
by  somebody  else  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  puzzles  me.  But  I  can  give 
a  partial  explanation.  Last  night,  after  finish- 
ing the  tale,  I  had  a  dream,  which  was  ex- 
tremely vivid,  though  I  find  it  impossible 
now  to  recall  the  details.  I  dreamt  that 
I  was  writing  a  story  under  the  title  of 
Dual  Personality — something  about  a  game- 
keeper and  two  young  lords  who  inter- 
changed their  characters.  It  was  a  sort  of 
nightmare,  partly  accounted  for  by  the  fact 
that  my  health,  until  to-day,  has  been  in- 
different. When  you  came  in  this  morning 
the  influence  of  the  dream  lingered  in  suffi- 
cient strength  to  make  me  think  I  had  actu- 
ally written  the  story  dreamed  about,  and  not 


202  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

the  one  you  have  just  read  out.  It  was 
an  illusion." 

"  Illusion  is  an  integral  part  of  reality,"  said 
the  young  man. 

"Is  that  an  original  remark ? "  asked  Pie- 
craft.  "  Somehow  I  seem  to  remember  having 
heard  it  before." 

"It  is  a  quotation,"  answered  the  other. 
"  I  am  in  the  habit  of  using  it  for  the  enlighten- 
ment of  new-comers." 

"  New-comers  ! "  exclaimed  Piecraft.  "  My 
dear  fellow,  do  you  know  that  my  brass  plate 
has  been  on  this  house  for  over  ten  years.  It 
is  you  who  are  the  new-comer,  not  I." 

The  young  man  smiled.  "It  has  been  on 
this  house  much  longer  than  that,  but  you  are 
a  new-comer  all  the  same,"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  catch  your  drift,"  said  Piecraft. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  It  takes  time  to  answer  that,"  said  the 
other.     "  Be  content  to  learn  gradually." 

"  There's  something  strange  about  all  this," 
said  Piecraft,  "  which  I  should  like  to  clear  up 
at  once.     I  don't  seem  to  know  exactly  where 


DR  PIECRAFT  CLEARS  HIS   MIND    203 

I  am.  Do  you  mind  shaking  me  ?  For  I'm 
half  inclined  to  think  that  I'm  fast  asleep  and 
dreaming — like  AbduUa,  in  the  story." 

"You  were  never  so  wide-awake  in  your 
life.  But  if  you  wish  for  an  immediate  en- 
lightenment, I  can  take  you  to  a  house  in  the 
next  street,  when  the  whole  position  will  be 
cleared  up  at  once." 

"  Come  along,"  said  Piecraft.  "  I  feel  like 
a  man  who  is  in  for  a  big  adventure.  There's 
something  interesting  in  this." 

As  they  passed  down  the  street,  Piecraft 
said  :  "  Would  you  mind  telling  me  as  we 
walk  along  what  you  think  of  the  story  you 
read  just  now?  It's  not  in  my  usual  style; 
in  fact,  it's  quite  a  new  departure,  and  I'm 
very  anxious,  before  publishing,  to  know  what 
impression  it  makes  on  good  judges." 

"  The  story  is  not  bad  for  a  first  attempt," 
said  the  young  man.  "  You'll  learn  to  express 
yourself  better  later  on.  It  was  a  bold  thing 
on  your  part  to  tackle  that  subject  right  away. 
To  handle  it  properly  requires  much  more 
experience  than  you   have   had.      There   are 


204  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

one  or  two  points  which  you  have  presented  in 
a  false  hght,  and  you  have  mixed  some  things 
up  which  ought  to  have  been  kept  separate. 
But,  on  the  whole,  you  have  no  reason  to 
be  discouraged." 

"I'm  surprised  at  what  you  say,"  returned 
Piecraft.  *'  As  to  my  being  a  beginner,  I 
had  a  notion  that  I  was  a  novelist  of  stand- 
ing, as  well  as  a  Gold  Medallist  in  Cerebral 
Pathology.  But  just  now  I'm  not  going  to 
dogmatise  about  that  or  anything  else.  It's 
just  possible  that  I'm  still  under  the  illusion 
produced  by  the  dream  of  last  night.  Mean- 
while, I'm  really  anxious  to  know  what  has 
happened.  The  things  about  me  are  familiar — 
and  yet  somehow  not  the  same  as  I  remember 
them.  They  look  as  though  the  old  dirt  had 
been  washed  out  of  them." 

*'  You  are  getting  on  remarkably  well,"  said 
his  companion.  *'  The  whole  world  has  been 
spring-cleaned  since  you  saw  it  last." 

*'  You  have  an  original  way  of  expressing 
yourself,"  said  Piecraft.  '*  Your  style  reminds 
me  of  a  young  half-brother  of  mine.     He  was 


DR  PIECRAFT   CLEARS   HIS  MIND     205 

lost  in  a  steamer  whose  name  I  can't  remember 
— when  was  it  ?  His  conversation  was  always 
picturesque.  And,  by  the  way,  that  suggests 
another  thing.  The  young  girl  who  waited 
on  me,  this  morning — who  is  she  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ? " 

"Because  she's  so  uncommonly  like  a  girl 
I  used  to  run  after  in  the  old  days — a  student 
at  the  Slade  School  of  Art.  And  a  wonder- 
fully good,  nice  girl  she  was.  Her  father,  who 
was  said  to  be  a  scoundrel,  got  ten  years  for 
alleged  embezzlement ;  and  the  girl  gave  me 
up  because  I  wouldn't  take  his  side.  How 
she  stuck  to  him  through  thick  and  thin !  I 
tell  you,  my  boy,  she  was  a  loyal  soul !  I 
wonder  if  she  is  still  alive." 

"  Such  souls  are  hard  to  kill,"  said  the  other. 

By  this  time  the  pair  had  arrived  at  the 
house  indicated  by  the  messenger.  On  the 
door  of  it  was  an  enormous  knocker  of  brass. 

"  Knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened,"  said  the 
young  man. 

Dr  Piecraft  had  lifted  the  knocker  and  was 


206  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

about  to  let  it  fall  when  he  heard  his  name 
called  loudly  down  the  street  and  saw  a  man 
running  towards  him  with  a  piece  of  paper  in 
his  hand.  The  man  approached  and  Piecraft, 
taking  the  paper,  read  as  follows  : 

"  Dr  Phippeny  Piecraft  is  needed  at  once 
for  a  matter  of  life  and  deaths 

"  I  must  be  off  immediately,"  he  said  to  his 
companion ;  "  I  am  called  to  an  urgent  case. 
It's  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  Duty  first, 
my  boy,  and  the  clearing- up  of  mysteries 
afterwards  1  Remember  what  the  sergeant 
said  to  AbduUa  when  he  plucked  him  by  the 
sleeve.  Besides — who  knows? — this  may  mean 
that  the  practice  is  going  to  revive." 

*'  That  is  precisely  what  it  does  mean,"  said 
the  young  man.  "  Matters  of  life  and  death 
are  extremely  common  just  now,  and  you  are 
the  very  man  to  deal  with  them." 

**  How  do  you  know  that  ? "  said  Piecraft 
with  some  astonishment ;  and,  as  he  spoke 
the  words,  without  thinking  he  released  the 
lifted  knocker  from  his  hand. 

The  knocker  fell,  and  the  instant  it  struck 


DR  PIECRAFr  CLEARS   HIS   MIND    207 

the  door  Dr  Phippeny  Piecraft  knew  where 
he  was. 

'^Ifs  wonderfully  like  the  old  home,''  he 
said. 

A  familiar  laugh  sounded  behind  him. 

He  turned  round  ;  and  the  man  who  grasped 
his  hand  was  Jim. 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  MARE 


The  Reverend  John  Scattergood,  D.D., 
Professor  of  Systematic  Theology,  was  of 
Puritan  descent.  The  founder  of  the  family 
was  Caleb  Scatter-the-good-seed,  a  cornet  of 
horse  in  Cromwell's  army,  who  had  earned  his 
master's  favour  by  prowess  at  the  battle  of 
Dunbar.  The  family  tradition  averred  that 
when  Cromwell  halted  the  pursuit  of  Leslie's 
shattered  forces  for  the  purpose  of  singing  the 
117th  Psalm,  it  was  Caleb  Scatter-the-good- 
seed  who  gave  out  the  tune  and  led  the 
psalmody.  This  he  did  at  the  beginning  of 
every  verse  by  striking  a  tuning-fork  on  his 
bloody  sword.  He  was  mounted,  said  the 
tradition,  on  a  coal-black  horse. 

John  Scattergood,  D.D.,  was  a  hard-headed 

208 


THE   PROFESSOR'S  MARE  209 

theologian.  His  lectures  on  Systematic 
Theology  ended,  as  all  who  attended  them 
will  remember,  in  a  cogent  demonstration  of 
the  Friendliness  of  the  Universe,  firmly  estab- 
lished by  the  Inflexible  Method.  This  was  a 
masterpiece  of  ratiocination.  The  impartial 
observation  of  facts,  the  even-handed  weighing 
of  evidence,  the  right  ordering  of  principles 
and  their  application,  the  separation  and 
weaving  together  of  lines  of  thought,  the 
careful  disentangling  of  necessary  pre-supposi- 
tions,  the  just  treatment  of  objectors — all  the 
qualities  demanded  of  one  who  handles  the 
deepest  problems  of  thought  were  combined 
in  Dr  Scattergood's  demonstration  of  the 
Friendliness  of  the  Universe  according  to  the 
Inflexible  Method.  Most  of  his  hearers  were 
convinced  by  his  arguments,  and  went  forth 
into  the  world  to  publish  the  good  news  that 
the  Universe  was  friendly. 

Hard-headed  as  Scattergood  was,  it  would 
be  unjust  to  his  character  to  describe  him  as 
free  from    superstition.      Much    of    his    life, 

indeed,  had  been  spent  in  attacking  the  super- 

14 


210  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

stitions  of  the  ignorant  and  the  thoughtless  ; 
but  this  very  practice  had  bred  in  him,  as 
in  so  many  others,  a  superstitious  regard  for 
the  argumentative  weapons  used  in  the  attack. 
Like  his  ancestor  at  Dunbar,  he  struck  his 
tuning-fork  on  his  sword.  To  be  sure,  he  was 
a  Rational  Theist,  and  a  cause  of  Rational 
Theism  in  others  ;  but,  unless  I  am  much  mis- 
taken, the  ultimate  object  of  his  faith,  the 
Power  behind  his  Deity,  was  the  Inflexible 
Method.  Superstition  never  dies  ;  it  merely 
changes  its  form.  It  is  not  a  confession  we 
make  to  ourselves  so  much  as  a  charge  we 
bring  against  others,  and  its  greatest  power  is 
always  exercised  in  directions  where  we  are 
least  aware  of  its  existence.  And  Scatter- 
good,  of  course,  was  unaware  that  his  attitude 
towards  the  Inflexible  Method  was  profoundly 
superstitious.  It  follows  that  he  was  unpre- 
pared for  the  part  which  superstition,  changing 
its  form,  was  destined  to  play  in  his  life. 

Theology,  then,  was  his  vocation,  but  I 
have  now  to  add,  the  horse  was  his  hobby. 
Although  he  had  taken  to  riding  late  in  life, 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  211 

he  was  by  no  means  an  incapable  rider  or  an 
ignorant  horseman.  Next  to  the  Universe, 
the  horse  had  been  the  subject  of  his  pro- 
foundest  study  ;  and  as  he  was  a  close  reasoner 
in  regard  to  the  one,  he  was  a  tight  rider  in 
regard  to  the  other.  His  seat,  like  his  philo- 
sophy, was  a  trifle  stiff;  but  what  else  could 
you  expect  in  one  who  had  passed  his  sixtieth 
year  ?  He  never  rode  to  hounds,  nor  otherwise 
unduly  jeopardised  his  neck ;  but  for  managing 
a  high-spirited  horse,  when  all  the  rest  of  us 
were  in  difficulties,  1  never  knew  his  better. 
"  Let  Scattergood  go  first,"  we  cried  as  the 
traction  engine  came  snorting  down  the  road 
and  our  elderly  hacks  were  prancing  on  the 
pavement ;  and  sure  enough  his  young 
thoroughbred  would  walk  by  the  monster 
without  so  much  as  changing  its  feet. 

"  Scattergood,"  I  once  asked  him,  "what  do 
you  do  to  that  young  mare  of  yours  when  you 
meet  a  traction  engine  or  a  miUtary  band  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  what  do  you  say  to  her  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 


21«  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

*'  Then  how  do  you  manage  it  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea." 

Needless  to  say,  he  was  deeply  respected  in 
the  stables.  "  A  gen'l'man  with  a  wonderful 
'orse-sense,''  said  the  old  ostler  one  day,  ex- 
patiating, as  usual,  on  Scattergood's  virtues. 
"  If  I'd  had  a  'orse-sense  like  him,  I'd  be  one 
o'  the  richest  men  in  England.  If  ever  there 
was  a  man  as  throwed  himself  away,  there 
he  goes !  'Orse-sense  isn't  a  thing  as  you  see 
every  day,  sir.  The  only  other  man  I've  ever 
knowed  as  had  it  was  his  Lordship,  as  I  was 
his  coachman  in  Ireland  more  than  twenty 
years  ago.  His  Lordship  used  to  say  to  me, 
'  Tom,'  he  says,  '  Tom,  it  all  comes  of  my 
grandfather  and  his  father  before  him  bein' 
jockeys.'  And  between  you  and  me,  sir,  that's 
what's  the  matter  with  his  Reverence.  He's 
jockey-bred,  sir,  you  take  my  word  for  it." 

"  His  father  was  a  bishop,"  I  interposed. 

"  Well,  his  father  may  have  been  a  bishop, 
for  all  I  care,"  said  Tom.  "  But  what  about 
his  mother,  and  what  about  his  mother's 
father,  and  his  father  before  him,  and  all  the 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  213 

rest  on  'em  ?  When  it  comes  to  a  matter  o' 
breedin',  you  don't  stop  at  fathers  ;  you  take 
in  the  whole  pedigree.  Wasn't  his  Lordship's 
father  a  brewer  ?  And  what  difference  did 
that  make  ?  When  'orse-sense  once  gets 
started  in  a  family  it  takes  more  than  brewin' 
and  more  than  bishopin'  to  wash  it  out  o'  the 
blood." 

"  I've  heard  that  gypsies  have  the  same 
gift,"  I  said. 

*'  I've  'card  it  too,  sir.  But  I  never  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  gypsies ;  though  his 
Lordship  was  as  thick  as  thieves  with  'em. 
And  thieves  are  just  what  they  are,  sir,  and 
if  it  weren't  for  that  I'd  say  as  the  gen'l'man 
was  as  like  to  be  gypsy- bred  as  jockey.  Don't 
you  never  let  the  gypsies  sell  you  a  'oss,  sir  ; 
you'll  be  took  in  if  you  do.  But  they  couldn't 
gypsy  him  !  Why,  I  don't  believe  as  there's  a 
'oss-dealer  for  twenty  miles  round  as  wouldn't 
go  out  for  a  walk  if  he  'card  as  Dr  Scattergood 
was  comin'  to  buy  a  'oss." 

That  the  ostler's  last  remark  was  true  in  the 
spirit  if  not  in  the  letter  the  following  incident 


«14  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

seems  to  prove.  Once  1  was  myself  entrapped 
into  the  folly  of  buying  a  horse,  and  1  was  on 
the  point  of  concluding  the  bargain,  which 
seemed  to  be  all  in  my  favour,  when  a  friendly 
daimon  whispered  in  my  ear  that  I  had  better 
be  cautious.  So  I  said,  "  Yes,  the  horse  seems 
all  right.  But  before  coming  to  a  final  deci- 
sion, I'll  bring  Dr  Scattergood  round  to  have 
a  look  at  him."  And  the  dealer  presently 
abated  his  price  by  twenty  pounds,  on  the 
understanding  that  "that  there  interferin' 
Scattergood,  as  had  already  done  him  more 
bad  turns  than  one,  w^as  not  allowed  to  poke 
his  nose  into  business  which  was  none  of  his." 

"  Pretty  good,"  said  the  Professor  when  I 
showed  him  my  purchase.  "Pretty  good. 
But  I  think  I  could  have  saved  you  another 
ten  pounds,  had  you  taken  the  trouble  to 
consult  me." 

He  kept  but  one  horse,  and  it  was  observed, 
as  a  strange  thing  in  a  lover  of  horses,  that  he 
never  kept  that  one  for  long.  He  was  con- 
stantly changing  his  mount.  By  superficial 
observers  this  was  set  down  to  a  certain  fickle- 


THE  PROFESSOR'S   MARE  215 

ness  of  disposition ;  but  the  truth  seems 
rather  to  have  been  that  Scattergood,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  was  engaged  in  the 
quest  for  the  Perfect  Horse.  No  man  knew 
better  than  he  what  equine  perfection  involved, 
and  none  was  ever  more  painfully  sensitive 
to  the  slightest  deviation  from  the  Absolute 
Ideal.  Whatever  good  qualities  his  horse 
might  possess — and  they  were  always  numerous 
— the  presence  of  a  single  fault,  however 
slight,  would  haunt  and  oppress  him  in  much 
the  same  way  as  a  venial  sin  will  trouble 
the  consciousness  of  a  saint.  I  remember  one 
beautiful  animal  in  which  the  severest  judges 
could  find  no  defect  save  that  it  had  half  a 
dozen  miscoloured  hairs  hidden  away  on  one 
of  its  hind-legs.  Every  time  the  good  doctor 
rode  that  horse  he  saw  the  miscoloured  hairs 
through  the  back  of  his  head  ;  and  away  went 
the  beast  to  Tattersall's  after  a  week's  trial. 
Another  followed,  and  another  after  that ;  but 
we  soon  ceased  to  count  them,  and  took  it  for 
granted  that  Scattergood's  horse,  seen  once, 
would  not  be  seen  again.     So  it  went  on  until 


«16  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

in  the  fullness  of  time  there  appeared  a  horse, 
or  more  strictly  a  mare,  which  did  not  depart 
as  swiftly  as  it  came. 

Whatever  perfection  may  be  in  other  realms, 
perfection  in  horses  seems  after  all  to  be  a 
relative  thing ;  for  though  Dr  Scattergood 
himself  regarded  this  one  as  perfect,  I  doubt 
if  he  could  have  found  a  single  soul  in  the  wide 
world  to  agree  with  him.  To  be  sure,  she  was 
beautiful  enough  to  cause  a  flutter  of  excite- 
ment as  she  passed  down  the  street ;  but  a 
beast  of  more  dangerous  mettle  never  pranced 
on  two  feet  or  kicked  out  with  one.  She  was 
the  terror  of  every  stable  she  entered,  and  it 
was  only  by  continual  largesse  on  the  part  of 
Scattergood  that  any  groom  could  be  induced 
to  feed  or  tend  her.  What  she  cost  him 
monthly  for  tips,  for  broken  stable  furniture, 
and  for  veterinary  attendance  on  the  horses 
she  kicked  in  the  ribs,  I  should  be  sorry  to  say. 
But  Scattergood  paid  it  all  without  a  murmur ; 
no  infatuated  lover  ever  bore  the  extravagance 
of  his  mistress  with  a  lighter  heart.  For  the 
truth  of  the  matter  was,  that  he  was  deeply 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  217 

attached  to  this  mare,  and  the  mare  was  deeply 
attached  to  him. 

Why  the  mare  was  fond  of  Scattergood  is  a 
problem  requiring  for  its  solution  more  horse- 
sense  than  most  of  us  possess  ;  so  we  had 
better  leave  it  alone.  But  Scattergood's 
reason  for  being  fond  of  the  mare  can  be 
stated  in  a  sentence.  She  reminded  him, 
constantly  and  vividly,  of  Ethelberta.  Her 
high  spirits,  her  dash,  her  unexpectedness,  her 
brilliant  eyes,  her  gait,  and  especially  the 
carriage  of  her  head,  were  a  far  truer  likeness 
of  Ethelberta  than  was  the  faded  photograph, 
or  even  the  miniature  set  in  gold,  which  the 
reverend  professor  kept  locked  in  his  secret 
drawer. 

Now  Ethelberta  was  the  name  of  the  lady 
whom  Scattergood  wished  he  had  married.  For 
five-and-thirty  years  he  had  never  ceased  wish- 
ing he  had  married  her — and  not  someone  else. 
Someone  else  !  Ay,  there  was  the  rub  !  The 
lawful  Mrs  Scattergood  was  not  a  person  whose 
portrait  I  should  care  to  draw  in  much  detail. 
Can  you  imagine  a  harder  lot  than  that  of  a 


218  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

world-famous  Systematic  Theologian,  publicly 
pledged  to  maintain  the  Friendliness  of  the 
Universe,  but  privately  consumed  with  anxiety 
lest  on  returning  home  (horresco  ref evens  !)  he 
should  find  a  heavy-featured,  blear-eyed,  irre- 
deemable woman,  the  woman  who  called  her- 
self his  wife,  narcotised  on  the  drawing-room 
sofa,  with  an  empty  bottle  of  chloral  at  her 
side  ?  That  was  the  lot  of  John  Scattergood, 
D.D.,  and  he  bore  it  like  a  man,  keeping  up 
a  pathetic  show  of  devotion  to  his  intolerable 
wife,  and  conceahng  his  personal  misery  from 
the  world  with  an  ingenuity  only  equal  to  that 
with  which  he  published  abroad  the  Friendli- 
ness of  the  Universe.  To  be  sure,  he  had  long 
abandoned  the  quest  for  happiness  as  a  thing 
unworthy  of  a  Systematic  Theologian — what 
else,  indeed,  could  he  do  ?  Still,  it  was  hardly 
possible  to  avoid  reflecting  that  he  would  have 
been  happier  if  he  had  married  Ethelberta. 
Each  day  something  happened  to  convince 
him  that  he  would.  For  example,  his  first 
duty  every  morning,  before  settling  down  to 
work,  was  to  make  a  tour  of  the  house,  some- 


THE   PROFESSOR^S   MARE  219 

times  in  the  company  of  a  trusted  domestic, 
hunting  for  a  concealed  bottle  of  morphia  ; 
and  when  at  last  the  servant,  with  her  arm 
under  a  mattress,  said,  "  I've  got  it,  sir,"  he 
could  not  help  reflecting  that  the  burden  of 
life  would  have  been  lighter  had  he  married 
the  high-souled  Ethelberta.  And  with  the 
thought  a  cloud  seemed  to  pass  between 
John  Scattergood  and  the  sun. 

He  would  often  say  to  himself  that  he 
wished  he  could  forget  Ethelberta.  But  in 
point  of  fact  he  wished  nothing  of  the  kind. 
He  secretly  cherished  her  memory,  and  the 
efforts  he  made  to  banish  her  from  his 
thoughts  only  served  to  incorporate  her  more 
completely  with  the  atmosphere  of  his  life. 

All  through  life  John  Scattergood  had  been 
a  deeply  conscientious  man.  But  conscience 
— or  rather  something  that  called  itself  con- 
science, but  was  in  reality  nothing  of  the  kind, 
— which  had  served  him  so  well  in  other 
respects,  had  been  his  undoing  in  the  matter 
of  Ethelberta.  At  the  age  of  twenty -five  he 
was  not  aware  that  a  man's  evil  genius,  bent 


220  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

on  doing  its  victim  the  deadliest  turn,  will 
often  disguise  itself  in  the  robes  of  his  heavenly 
guide.  Later  on  in  life  he  learned  to  penetrate 
these  disguises,  but  at  twenty-five  he  was  at 
their  mercy.  He  was,  as  we  have  seen,  of 
Puritan  descent;  his  evangelical  upbringing 
had  taught  him  to  regard  as  heaven-sent  all 
inner  voices  which  bade  him  sacrifice  his 
happiness  ;  and  this  it  was  of  which  the  enemy 
took  advantage.  In  his  relationship  with 
Ethelberta  the  young  man  was  radiantly 
happy ;  but  that  very  circumstance  aroused 
his  suspicions.  "  You  are  not  worthy  of  this 
happiness,"  said  an  inner  voice;  "and,  what 
is  far  more  to  the  point,  you  are  not  worthy 
of  Ethelberta.  She  is  too  good  for  such 
as  you." 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  said  the  young  Scatter- 
good,  addressing  the  inner  voice.  "  Who  are 
you  that  haunt  me  night  and  day  with  this 
horrible  fear  ?  " 

"  1  am  your  conscience,"  answered  the  voice. 
*'  You  are  unworthy  of  Ethelberta ;  and  it  is 
I,  your  conscience,  that  tell  you  so.     I  am  a 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  221 

voice  from  heaven,  and  beware  of  disregard- 
ing me." 

Had  Scattergood  been  thirty  years  older, 
this  strange  anxiety  on  the  part  of  his  con- 
science to  establish  its  claims  as  a  voice  from 
heaven  would  have  put  him  on  his  guard  ;  he 
would  have  lifted  those  shining  robes  and  seen 
the  hoofs  beneath  them.  But  these  precau- 
tions had  not  occurred  to  him  in  the  days 
when  he  and  Ethelberta  were  walking  hand  in 
hand.  So  he  listened  to  that  inner  voice  with 
awe :  he  listened  until  its  lying  words  became 
an  obsession ;  until  they  darkened  his  mind ; 
until  they  drowned  the  voices  of  love  and 
began  to  find  utterance  in  his  manners,  and 
even  in  his  speech,  with  Ethelberta.  She,  on 
her  part,  did  not  understand — what  woman 
ever  could  or  would? — and  a  cloud  came 
between  them.  "  The  cloud  is  from  heaven," 
said  the  inner  voice.  "  I  have  sent  it ;  let  it 
grow ;  you  are  not  good  enough  for  Ethelberta, 
and  it  will  be  a  sin  to  link  your  life  with  hers." 

So  the  cloud  grew,  till  one  day  a  woman's 
wrath  shot  out  of  it ;  there  was  an  explosion, 


222  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

a  quarrel,  a  breach  ;  and  the  two  parted,  never 
to  meet  again.  "  You  have  done  your  duty," 
said  the  false  conscience.  "You  have  dealt 
me  a  mortal  hurt,"  said  the  soul.  But  Scatter- 
good  was  still  convinced  that  he  was  not  good 
enough  for  Ethelberta. 

Within  a  year  or  two  the  usual  results  had 
followed.  Scattergood  married  a  woman  who 
was  not  good  enough  for  him ;  and  that  other 
man,  who  had  been  watching  his  opportunity, 
like  a  wolf  around  the  sheepfold,  married 
Ethelberta.  And  he  was  not  good  enough 
for  ker. 

And  now  many  years  had  passed,  and 
Ethelberta  was  long  since  dead.  But  that 
made  no  difference  to  the  aching  wound ;  for 
Professor  Scattergood,  who  was  intelligent 
about  all  things,  and  far  too  intelligent  about 
Ethelberta,  used  to  reflect  that  probably  she 
would  still  be  alive  had  she  married  him. 
"  They  went  to  Naples  for  their  honeymoon," 
he  would  say  aloud — for  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  talking  to  himself — "they  went  to  Naples 
for  their  honeymoon ;  there  she  caught  typhoid 


THE   PROFESSOR'S  MARE  223 

fever,  and  died  six  weeks  after  her  marriage. 
But  things  would  have  happened  differently 
had  she  married  me.  We  were  not  going  to 
Naples  for  the  honeymoon.  We  were  going 
to  Switzerland :  we  settled  it  that  night  after 
the  dance  at  Lady  Brown's — the  night  I  first 
told  her  I  was  not  worthy  of  her.  Fool  that  I 
was  ! "  Such  were  the  meditations  of  Professor 
John  Scattergood,  D.D.,  as  he  trotted  under 
the  hedgerow  elms  and  heard  the  patter  of  his 
horse's  hoofs  falling  softly  on  the  withered 
leaves. 

Thus  we  can  understand  how  it  came  to 
pass  that  Dr  Scattergood's  imagination  was 
abnormally  sensitive  to  anything  which  could 
remind  him  of  Ethelberta.  And  I  have  no 
doubt  that  his  peculiar  horse-sense  was  also 
involved  in  the  particular  reminder  with 
which  we  have  now  to  deal. 

Certain  it  is  that  he  discerned  the  resemblance 
to  Ethelberta  the  moment  he  cast  eyes  upon 
his  mare.  He  was  standing  in  the  dealer's 
yard,  and  the  dealer  was  leading  the  animal 
out  of  the  stable.     Suddenly  catching  sight  of 


824  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

the  strange  black- coated  figure,  she  stopped 
abruptly,  lowered  her  head,  curved  her  neck, 
and  looked  Scattergood  straight  between  the 
eyes.  For  a  moment  he  was  paralysed  with 
astonishment  and  thought  he  was  dreaming. 
The  movement,  the  attitude,  the  look  were  all 
Ethelberta's  I  Exactly  thus  had  she  stopped 
abruptly,  lowered  her  head,  curved  her  neck, 
and  looked  him  in  the  face  when  thirty-five 
years  ago  he  had  been  introduced  to  her  at  an 
Embassy  Ball  in  Vienna.  A  vision  swept  over 
his  inner  eye :  he  saw  bright  uniforms,  heard 
music,  felt  the  presence  of  a  crowd ;  and  so 
completely  was  the  actuality  of  things  blotted 
out  that  he  made  a  low  reverence  to  the 
animal  as  though  he  were  being  introduced 
to  some  highborn  dame.  The  dealer  noticed 
the  movement  and  wondered  what  "new 
hanky-panky  old  Scattergood  was  trying  on 
the  mare." 

"  Now,  that's  a  mare  I  raised  myself,"  said 
the  dealer.  "  I've  watched  her  every  day 
since  she  was  foaled,  and  I'll  undertake  to  say 
as  there  isn't  another  like  her  in " 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  225 

"  In  the  wide  world :  I  know  there  isn't," 
said  Scattergood,  cutting  him  short.  Then, 
suddenly,  "What's  her  name?" 

"Meg,"  replied  the  dealer,  who  was  ex- 
pecting a  very  different  question. 

"  Meg — Meg,"  said  the  Doctor.     "  Why,  it 

ought  to  be Well,  never  mind,  Meg  will 

do.  So  you  bred  her  yourself?  Will  you 
swear  you  didn't  steal  her  ? " 

This  was  too  much  even  for  a  horse-dealer. 
"  We're  not  a  firm  of  horse-thieves,"  he  said, 
and  he  was  preparing  to  lead  her  back  into 
the  stable. 

"  I'm  only  joking,"  said  Scattergood  in  a 
tremulous  voice  which  belied  him.  "  She's  the 
living  likeness  of  one  I  remember  years  ago — 
one  that  was  stolen.  Come,  bring  her  back. 
I'm  ready  to  buy  that  mare  at  her  full  value." 

"  And  what  may  that  be  ? "  replied  the 
dealer,  glad  that  the  enemy  had  made  the  first 
move. 

"  A  hundred  and  twenty." 

The  dealer  was  astonished  ;  for  his  customer 

had  offered  the  exact  sum  at  which  he  hoped 

15 


fSbS  ALL   MEN   ARE  GHOSTS 

to  sell  the  mare.  For  a  moment  he  thought 
of  standing  out  for  a  hundred  and  fifty,  but  he 
knew  it  was  useless  to  bargain  with  Scatter- 
good,  so  he  said : 

"  It's  giving  her  away,  sir,  at  a  hundred  and 
twenty.  But  for  the  sake  of  quick  business, 
and  you  being  a  gentleman  as  knows  a  horse 
when  you  sees  one,  I'll  take  you  at  your  own 
figure." 

"  Done,"  said  Scattergood.  "  I'll  send  you 
a  cheque  round  in  ten  minutes."  And  without 
another  word  he  walked  out  of  the  yard.  He 
had  found  the  perfect  horse. 

The  dealer  stood  dumbfoundered,  halter  in 
hand — he  was  unconscious  that  Meg  had  already 
caught  his  shirt-sleeve  between  her  teeth.  Could 
that  retreating  figure  be  the  wary  Scattergood, 
Scattergood  of  the  thousand  awkward  questions, 
Scattergood  the  terror  of  every  horse-dealer  in 
the  countryside  ?  Never  before  had  he  found 
so  prompt,  so  reckless  a  customer.  Were  his 
eyes  deceiving  him?  Was  it  a  dream?  A 
violent  jerk  on  his  right  arm,  and  the  simul- 
taneous sound  of  tearing  linen,  recalled  him  to 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  227 

himself.  "  You  she-devil ! "  he  said,  "  I'll  take 
the  skin  off  you  for  this.  But  I  hope  the  old 
gentleman's  well  insured." 

Meanwhile  the  Professor  was  walking  home 
in  a  state  of  profound  mental  perturbation. 
Visions  of  the  Embassy  Ball  in  Vienna,  Bud- 
dhist theories  of  reincarnation,  problems  of 
animal  psychology,  doubts  as  to  the  validity 
of  the  Inflexible  Method,  vague  and  nameless 
feelings  that  accompanied  the  disappearance  of 
his  "  horse-sense,"  a  yet  vaguer  joy  as  of  one 
who  has  found  something  precious  which  he 
had  lost,  and  beneath  all  the  ever-present  sub- 
conscious fear  that  he  would  find  his  wdfe 
narcotised  on  the  drawing-room  sofa,  were 
buzzing  and  dancing  through  his  mind. 

"  It's  the  likeness  that  puzzles  me,"  he 
began  to  reflect.  "A  universal  resemblance, 
borne  by  particulars  not  one  of  which  is  really 
like  the  original.  Quite  unmistakable,  and 
yet  quite  unthinkable.  An  indubitable  fact, 
and  yet  a  fact  which  no  one  who  has  not  seen 
could  ever  be  induced  to  believe." 

Had  anyone  half  an  hour  earlier  propounded 


228  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

the  statement  that  a  woman  could  bear  a 
closer  resemblance  to  a  horse  than  to  her  own 
portrait,  he  would  have  treated  the  proposition 
as  one  which  no  amount  of  evidence  could 
make  good.  So  far  from  the  evidence  proving 
the  proposition  true,  he  would  have  said,  it  is 
the  proposition  which  proves  the  evidence 
false.  Otherwise,  what  is  the  use  of  the 
Inflexible  Method?  But  now  the  thing  was 
flashed  on  him  with  the  brightness  of  authentic 
revelation,  and  there  was  no  gainsaying  its 
truth.  Not  once  during  the  five-and-thirty 
years  of  his  mourning  for  Ethelberta  had  any- 
thing happened  to  bring  her  so  vividly  to 
mind  ;  not  even  among  the  dreams  that  haunt 
the  borderland  of  sleep  and  waking ;  no,  nor 
even  when  he  listened  to  the  great  singer 
whose  voice  had  pierced  his  heart  with  the 
sad  and  angry  music  of  Heine's  bitterest  song. 
Professor  Scattergood  was  a  firm  believer  in 
the  efficacy  of  a  'priori  thought ;  but  though 
by  means  of  it  he  had  excogitated  a  system 
in  which  the  plan  of  an  entire  Universe  was 
sufficiently  laid  down,  there  was  not  one  of 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  229 

his  principles  either  primary  or  secondary 
which  could  have  built  a  niche  for  the  ex- 
perience he  had  just  undergone  in  the  horse- 
dealer's  yard. 

As  he  neared  his  doorstep  the  confusion  of 
his  mind  suddenly  ranged  itself  into  form  and 
gave  birth  to  an  articulate  thought.  "I'm 
sure,"  he  said  to  himself,  drawing  his  latch-key 
out  of  his  pocket  and  inserting  it  in  the  key- 
hole— "  I'm  sure  that  Ethelberta  is  not  far 
off.  Yes,  as  sure  as  I  am  of  anything  in  this 
world." 


II 

The  "horse-sense,"  which  gave  Professor 
Scattergood  his  reputation  in  the  stables,  was 
always  accompanied  by  a  well-marked  physi- 
cal sensation — to  wit,  a  continuous  tingling 
at  the  back  of  the  head,  seemingly  located 
at  an  exact  spot  in  the  cortex  of  the  brain. 
So  long  as  the  back  of  his  head  was  tingling, 
every  horse  was  completely  at  Scattergood's 
mercy;    he   could  do   with    it    whatever    he 


230  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

willed.  But  I  have  it  on  his  own  authority 
that  at  the  moment  he  cast  eyes  on  his  new 
mare  the  sensation  suddenly  ceased  and  his 
horse-sense  deserted  him. 

Accordingly,  the  first  time  he  took  her 
out  he  mounted  with  trepidation,  and  fear 
possessed  his  soul  that  she  would  run  away 
with  him.  Though  nothing  very  serious  fol- 
lowed, the  fear  was  not  entirely  groundless. 
His  daily  ride,  which  usually  occupied  exactly 
two  hours  and  five  minutes,  was  accomplished 
on  this  occasion  in  one  hour  and  twenty,  and 
for  a  week  afterwards  the  Professor's  man 
rubbed  liniment  into  his  back  three  times  a 
day.  On  the  second  occasion  he  had  the  ill 
luck  to  encounter  the  local  Hunt  in  full  career, 
a  thing  he  would  have  minded  not  the  least 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  extremely 
disconcerting  at  a  moment  when  his  horse- 
sense  happened  to  be  in  abeyance.  Before  he 
had  time  to  take  in  the  situation,  Meg  joined 
the  rushing  tide,  and  for  the  next  forty  minutes 
the  field  was  led  by  the  first  Systematic  Theo- 
logian in  Europe,  who  had  given  himself  up  for 


THE   PROFESSOR^S   MARE  231 

lost  and  was  preparing  for  death.  And  killed 
he  probably  would  have  been  but  for  two  things : 
the  first  was  the  fine  qualities  of  his  mount,  and 
the  second  was  a  literary  reminiscence  which 
enabled  him  to  retain  his  presence  of  mind. 
Even  in  these  desperate  circumstances,  the 
Professor  s  habit  of  talking  to  himself  remained 
in  force.  A  friend  of  mine  who  was  riding 
close  behind  him  told  me  that  he  distinctly 
heard  Scattergood  repeating  the  lines  of  the 
Odyssey  which  tell  how  Ulysses,  on  the  point 
of  suffocation  in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  kept  his 
wits  about  him  and  made  a  spring  for  his  raft 
the  instant  he  rose  to  the  surface.  Again  and 
again,  as  the  Professor  raced  across  the  open, 
did  he  repeat  those  lines  to  himself;  and 
whenever  a  dangerous  fence  or  ditch  came 
in  sight  he  would  break  off  in  the  middle  of 
the  Greek  and  cry  aloud  in  English,  "Now, 
John  Scattergood,  prepare  for  death  and  sit 
well  back  " — resuming  the  Greek  the  moment 
he  was  safely  landed  on  the  other  side,  and 
thus  proving  once  more  that  the  blood  of  the 
Ironsides  still  ran  in  his  veins. 


232  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

Said  a  farmer  to  me  one  day : 

"  Who's  that  gentleman  as  has  just  gone  up 
the  lane  on  the  chestnut  mare  ? " 

*'  That,"  said  I,  "  is  Professor  Scattergood — 
one  of  our  greatest  men." 

"  H'm,"  said  the  farmer ;  "  I  reckon  he's  a 
clergyman — to  judge  by  his  clothes." 

«  He  is." 

"Well,  he's  a  queer  *un  for  a  clergyman, 
danged  if  he  isn't.  He's  alius  talking  aloud  to 
himself.  And  what  do  you  think  I  hear  him 
say  when  he  come  through  last  Thursday? 
*John  Scattergood,'  says  he,  'you  were  a 
damned  fool.  Yes,  there's  no  other  word  for 
it,  John ;  you  were  a  damned  fool ! ' " 

**  That,"  I  said,  "  is  language  which  no 
clergyman  ought  to  use,  not  even  when  he  is 
talking  to  himself.  But  perhaps  the  words 
were  not  his  own.  They  may  have  been  used 
about  him  by  some  other  person — possibly  by 
his  wife,  who,  people  say,  is  a  bit  of  a  Tartar. 
In  that  case  he  would  be  just  repeating  them 
to  himself,  by  way  of  refreshing  his  memory." 

The  farmer    laughed   at   this   explanation. 


THE   PROFESSOR'S  MARE  233 

"  I  see  you're  a  gentleman  with  a  kind  'eart," 
said  he.  "But  a  man  with  a  swearin'  wife 
don't  ride  about  the  country  lanes  refreshin 
his  memory  in  that  way.  He  knows  his 
missus  will  do  all  the  refreshin'  he  wants 
when  he  gets  'ome.  No,  you'll  never  persuade 
me  as  them  words  weren't  the  gentleman's 
own.  From  the  way  he  said  'em  you  could 
see  as  they  tasted  good.  Why,  he  said  'em 
just  like  this " 

And  the  farmer  repeated  the  objectionable 
language,  with  a  voice  and  manner  that  en- 
tirely disposed  of  my  charitable  theory.  He 
then  added  :  "  Clergyman  or  no  clergyman,  I'll 
say  one  thing  for  him — he  rides  a  good  'oss. 
I'll  bet  you  five  to  one  as  that  chestnut  mare 
cost  him  a  hundred  and  twenty  guineas,  if  she 
cost  him  a  penny." 

From  the  tone  in  which  the  farmer  said  this 
I  gathered  that  a  gentleman  whose  'oss  cost 
him  a  hundred  and  twenty  guineas  was  en- 
titled to  use  any  language  he  liked  ;  and  that 
my  explanation,  therefore,  even  if  true,  was 
superfluous. 


284  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

What  did  the  Professor  mean  by  apostro- 
phising himself  in  the  strong  language  over- 
heard by  the  farmer?  The  exegesis  of  the 
passage,  it  must  be  confessed,  is  obscure,  and, 
not  unnaturally,  there  is  a  division  of  opinion 
among  the  higher  critics.  Some,  of  whom  I 
am  one,  argue  that  the  words  refer  to  a  long- 
past  error  of  judgment  in  the  Professor's  life ; 
more  precisely,  to  the  loss  of  Ethelberta. 
Others  maintain  that  this  theory  is  far-fetched 
and  fanciful.  The  Professor,  they  say,  was 
plainly  cursing  himself  for  the  purchase  of 
Meg.  For,  is  there  not  reason  to  believe  that 
at  the  very  moment  when  the  obnoxious  words 
were  uttered  he  was  again  in  trouble  with  the 
mare,  and  therefore  in  a  state  of  mind  likely 
to  issue  in  the  employment  of  this  very 
expression  ? 

Now,  although  I  have  always  held  the  first 
of  these  two  theories,  I  must  hasten  to  concede 
the  last  point  in  the  argument  of  the  other 
side.  It  is  a  fact  that  at  the  very  moment 
when  the  Professor  cursed  himself  for  a  fool 
he  was    again    in    trouble  with   Meg.      On 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  235 

previous  occasions  her  faults  had  been  those 
of  excess ;  but  to-day  she  was  erring  by  defect : 
instead  of  going  too  fast  she  was  going  too 
slow,  and  occasionally  refusing  to  go  at  all. 
She  would  neither  canter  nor  trot ;  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  she  could  be  induced  to  walk, 
and  then  only  at  a  snail's-pace ;  apparently 
she  wanted  to  fly.  In  consequence  of  which 
the  Professor's  daily  ride  promised  to  occupy 
at  least  three  hours,  thereby  causing  him  to 
be  twenty-five  minutes  late  for  his  afternoon 
lecture. 

Meg's  behaviour  that  day  had  been  irritating 
to  the  last  degree.  She  began  by  insisting 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  road,  and  before 
Professor  Scattergood  could  emerge  from  the 
traffic  of  the  town  he  had  been  threatened 
with  legal  proceedings  by  two  policemen  and 
cursed  by  several  drivers  of  wheeled  vehicles. 
Arrived  in  the  open  country,  Meg  spent  her 
time  in  examining  the  fields  on  either  side  of 
the  road,  in  the  hope  apparently  of  again 
discovering  the  Hunt;  she  would  dart  down 
every  lane  and  through  every  open  gate,  and 


S86  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

now  and  then  would  stop  dead  and  gaze  at 
the  scenery  in  the  most  provoking  manner. 
Coming  to  a  blacksmith's  shop  with  which 
she  was  acquainted,  a  desire  for  new  shoes 
possessed  her  feminine  soul,  and,  suddenly 
whisking  round  through  the  door  of  the 
shoeing  shed,  she  knocked  off  the  Professor's 
hat  and  almost  decapitated  him  against  the 
lintel.  The  Professor  had  not  recovered  from 
the  shock  of  this  incident  when  a  black  Berk- 
shire pig  that  was  being  driven  to  market 
came  in  sight  round  a  turn  of  the  road.  Meg, 
as  became  a  highbred  horse,  positively  refused 
to  pass  the  unclean  thing,  or  even  to  come 
within  twenty  yards  of  it.  She  snorted  and 
pranced,  reared  and  curveted,  and  was  about 
to  make  a  bolt  for  home  when  the  pig-driver, 
who  had  considerately  driven  his  charge  into 
a  field  where  it  was  out  of  sight,  seized  Meg's 
bridle  and  led  her  beyond  the  dangerous  pass. 
"  Meg,  Meg,"  said  the  professor,  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone  and  order  had  been  restored — 
"  Meg,  Meg,  this  will  never  do.  You  and  I 
will  have   to  part   company.     I   don't   mind 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  237 

your  looking  like  Ethelberta,  but  I  can't  allow 
you  to  act  as  she  did.  To  be  sure,  Ethelberta 
broke  my  heart  thirty-five  years  ago.  But 
that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  suffer  you  to 
break  my  neck  to-day.  We'll  go  home,  Meg, 
and  I'll  take  an  early  opportunity  of  breaking 
off  the  engagement,  just  as  1  broke  it  off  with 
Ethelberta — though,  between  you  and  me, 
Meg,  I  was  a  damned  fool  for  doing  it." 

Professor  Scattergood  spoke  these  words 
in  a  low,  soft,  musical  voice ;  the  voice  he 
always  used  when  talking  to  horses  or  to  him- 
self about  Ethelberta.  Even  the  obnoxious 
adjective  was  pronounced  by  the  Professor 
with  that  tenderness  of  intonation  which  only 
a  horse  or  a  woman  can  fully  understand. 
And  here  I  must  explain  that  this  particular 
tone  came  to  him  naturally  in  these  two  con- 
nections only.  In  all  others  his  voice  was 
high-pitched,  hard,  and  a  trifle  forced.  Years 
of  lecturing  on  Systematic  Theology  had  con- 
siderably damaged  his  vocal  apparatus.  He 
had  developed  a  throat-clutch ;  he  had  a 
distressing  habit  of  ending  all  his  sentences 


238  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

on  the  rising  inflection ;  and  whenever  he 
was  the  least  excited  in  argument  he  had  a 
tendency  to  scream.  It  was  in  this  voice 
that  he  addressed  his  class.  But  whenever  he 
happened  to  be  talking  to  horses,  or  to  himself 
about  Ethelberta — and  you  might  catch  him 
doing  so  almost  any  time  when  he  was  alone, 
— you  would  hear  something  akin  to  music,  and 
would  reflect  what  a  pity  it  was  that  Professor 
Scattergood  had  never  learned  to  sing. 

It  was,  I  say,  in  this  low,  soft,  musical 
voice  that  he  addressed  his  mare,  perhaps 
with  some  exceptional  sadness,  on  the  day 
when,  sorely  tried  by  her  bad  behaviour,  he 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  engage- 
ment must  be  broken  off.  And  now  I  must 
once  more  risk  my  reputation  for  veracity ; 
and  if  the  pinch  comes  and  I  have  to  defend 
myself  from  the  charge  of  lying,  I  shall 
appeal  for  confirmation  to  my  old  friend  the 
ostler,  who  knows  a  great  deal  about  'osses, 
and  believes  my  story  through  and  through. 
What  happened  was  this. 

The  moment  Professor  Scattergood  began  to 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  239 

address  his  mare  in  the  tones  aforesaid,  she  stood 
stock-still,  with  ears  reversed  in  the  direction 
from  which  the  sounds  were  coming.  When 
he  had  finished,  a  gentle  quiver  passed  through 
her  body.  Then,  suddenly  lowering  her  head, 
she  turned  it  round  with  a  quick  movement 
towards  the  off  stirrup,  and  slightly  bit  the 
toe  of  Professor  Scattergood's  boot.  This 
done,  she  recovered  her  former  attitude  of 
attention,  and  again  reversed  her  ears  as 
though  awaiting  a  response.  Taking  in  the 
meaning  of  her  act  with  a  swift  instinct  which 
he  never  allowed  to  mar  his  treatment  of 
Systematic  Theology,  the  professor  said  one 
word  —  "  Ethelberta "  ;  and  the  word  had 
hardly  passed  his  lips  when  something  began 
to  tingle  at  the  back  of  his  head.  Instantly 
the  mare  broke  into  the  gentlest  and  evenest 
canter  that  ever  delighted  a  horseman  of  sixty 
years ;  carried  him  through  the  remainder  of 
his  ride  without  a  single  hitch,  shy,  or  other 
misdemeanour,  and  brought  him  to  his  own 
doorstep  in  exactly  two  hours  and  five  minutes 
from  the  time  he  had  left  it.     Thenceforward, 


240  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

until  the  last  day  of  his  life,  he  never  had  the 
slightest  trouble  with  his  mare.  That  is  the 
story  which  the  ostler  believes  through  and 
through. 

Next  day  the  Professor  said  to  this  man : 

"Tom,  I'm  going  to  change  the  name  of 
my  mare." 

"  You  can't  do  that,  sir.  You'll  never  get 
her  to  answer  to  a  new  name." 

"  I  mean  to  try,  anyhow.  Here  " — and  he 
slipped  half  a  sovereign  into  the  man's  hand. 
"  You  make  this  mare  answer  to  the  name  of 
Ethelberta,  and  I'll  give  you  as  much  more 
when  it's  done." 

"Beg  your  pardon, sir,"  said  the  man,  slipping 
the  coin  into  his  pocket — "  Beg  your  pardon, 
sir,  but  there  never  was  a  'oss  with  a  name  like 
that.     It's  not  a  'oss's  name  at  all,  sir." 

"  Never  mind  that.  Do  as  I  tell  you,  and 
you  won't  regret  it.    Ethelberta — don't  forget." 

The  groom  touched  his  hat.  Professor 
Scattergood  left  the  stables,  and  presently  the 
groom  and  his  chief  pal  were  rolling  in  laughter 
on  a  heap  of  straw. 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  241 

A  fortnight  later  the  groom  said : 

"  The  mare  answers  wonderful  well  to  that 
new  name,  sir.  Stopped  her  kicking  and 
biting  altogether,  sir.  Why,  the  day  before 
we  give  it  her,  she  tore  the  shirt  off  my  back 
and  bit  a  hole  in  my  breeches  as  big  as  a 
mangel-wurzel." 

"  I'll  pay  for  both  of  them,"  said  Professor 
Scattergood. 

"  Thank  'ee,  sir.  But  since  we  give  her  the 
new  name  she's  not  even  made  as  though  she 
wanted  to  bite  anybody.  And  as  for  kicking, 
why,  you  might  take  tea  with  your  mother- 
in-law  right  under  her  heels  and  she  wouldn't 
knock  a  saucer  over.  I  nivver  see  such  a 
thing  in  all  my  life,  and  don't  expect  nivver 
to  see  such  another !  WonderfuVs  what  I 
calls  it  I  Though,  since  I've  come  to  think 
of  it,  there  was  once  a  'oss  named  Ethelberta 
as  won  the  Buddie  Stakes.  Our  foreman  says 
as  he  remembers  the  year  it  won.  Maybe  as 
you  had  a  bit  yourself,  sir,  on  that  'oss — though 
beg  your  pardon  for  saying  so." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Professor,  "  I  backed  Ethel- 

16 


£42  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

berta  for  all  I  was  worth,  and  won  ten  times 
as  much.  Only,  some  fellow  stole  the  winnings 
out  of  my — my  inner  pocket  just  before  I  got 
home.     It  was  thirty-five  years  ago." 

"  So  it  was  a  bit  o'  bad  luck  after  all,  sir  ? " 
"  It  was,"  said  Scattergood,  "  extremely  bad 
luck." 

*'  Did  they  ever  catch  the  man,  sir  ? " 
"  They  did.     They   caught  him  within   a 
year  after  the  theft." 

"  I  expect  they  give  it  'im  'ot,  sir  ?  " 
"  Yes.     He  got  a  life-sentence,  the  same  as 
mi — the  same  as  that  man  got  who  was  con- 
victed the  other  day." 

At  this  lame  conclusion  the  groom  looked 
puzzled,  and  Scattergood  had  to  extricate 
himself.  "  You  see,  Tom,"  he  went  on,  "the 
value  of  what  I  lost  was  enormous." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  tidy  haul  to  get  the 
thief  a  sentence  like  that,"  said  Tom.  "  But 
maybe  he  give  you  a  tap  on  the  head  into  the 
bargain,  sir." 

"  He  put  a  knife  into  me,"  said  Scattergood, 
*'  and  the  wound  aches  to  this  day." 


THE  PROFESSOR'S   MARE  243 

For  some  reason  he  felt  an  unwonted 
pleasure  in  pursuing  this  conversation  with 
the  sympathetic  groom,  and  inwardly  resolved 
that  he  would  give  him  a  handsome  tip. 

*'  Put  a  knife  into  you,  did  he  ?  "  cried  Tom. 
"  Why,  that's  just  like  what  happened  to  me 
when  I  was  coachman  to  his  Lordship.  We 
was  livin'  in  Ireland,  and  it  was  the  days  of 
the  Land  League.  Me  and  his  Lordship  had 
been  to  Ballymunny  Races,  and  his  Lordship 
had  got  his  pockets  stuffed  full  o'  money  as 
he'd  won,  and  I  don't  say  I  hadn't  won  a  bit 
myself,  seein'  as  I  alius  backed  the  same  'osses 
as  he  did.  Well,  we  had  about  fifteen  miles 
to  drive  in  the  dark,  and  before  we  starts  his 
Lordship  says  to  me,  '  Tom,  my  lad,'  he  says, 
*go  round  the  town  and  buy  me  the  most 
grievous  big  stick  you  can  find  in  the  place.' 

*  What's  that  for,  my  Lord  ? '  I  says,  for  me 
and  his  Lordship  was   a'most  like  brothers. 

*  Tom,'  he  says,  *  I've  been  losin'  my  'orse- 
sense  all  day,  and  whenever  that  happens  I 
knows  there's  trouble  a-brewin'.'  So  I  goes 
and  buys  him  a  stick,  and  a  beauty  it  were,  too. 


244  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

made  o'  bog  oak,  and  that  'eavy  that  1  couldn't 
elp  feelin'  sorry  for  the  wife  o'  the  man  as  was 
goin'  to  get  it  on  the  top  of  'is  'ead.  *  All 
right,  Tom,'  says  his  Lordship  as  he  jumps  on 
the  car ;  *  and  give  the  reins  a  turn  round 
the  palm  o'  your  'and.'  So  off  we  starts,  and 
we  'adn't  gone  more  than  four  miles  when 
three  men  springs  out  on  us  just  like  shadows. 

*  Look  out,  my  Lord,'  I  shouts ;  *  there's 
three  on  'em  ! '  His  Lordship,  as  was  sitting 
just  behind  me,  he  hits  out  splendid,  and  I 
could  'ear  his  big  stick  going  crack,  crack  on 
their  'eads.     '  Well  done,  my  Lord  ! '  I  shouts. 

*  Hit  'em,  my  Lord ! '  I  says ;  '  give  it  'em 
'ome-brewed  ! '  *  It's  hittin'  'em  that  I'm 
after,'  says  he.  '  I've  made  one  on  'em  com- 
fortable. Tom,  you're  a  great  boy  for  choosin' 
a  stick ;  but  what's  become  o'  that  big  fellow  ? ' 

*  He's  on  the  near  side,  creepin'  under  the  car,' 
I  says  ;  '  look  out  for  that  one,  my  Lord  ;  he's 
got  a  knife  I '  And  I  was  just  givin'  the  reins 
another  turn  round  the  palm  o'  my  'and  when 
I  feels  summat  sharp  under  my  right  shoulder- 
blade,  and  I  begins  catchin'  my  breath.     The 


THE  PROFESSOR'S   MARE  245 

last  as  1  remember  was  seein'  his  Lordship 
bendin'  over  me,  like  as  if  he'd  been  my  own 
mother.  'Tom,  my  own  darlin','  he  says, 
'if  the  black  villains  have  killed  you,  it's  a 
sorrowin"  man  I'll  be  for  the  rest  of  my  days. 
But  I've  given  that  big  one  a  sleepin'-draught 
as  he  won't  wake  up  till  the  Angel  Gabriel 
knocks  at  his  bedroom  door.' — I'd  got  it 
proper,  I  can  tell  you !  Touched  the  lung, 
too,  that  it  did ;  and  whenever  I  catches  a  bit 
o'  cold  and  begins  coughin',  it's  that  painful 
that  I  can't ' " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Scattergood.  "  Well,  here's 
something  that's  good  for  an  old  wound — 
though,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  rode 
away,  "it  never  made  much  difference  to 
mine."     He  had  given  the  man  a  sovereign. 

As  the  Professor  walked  his  horse  down  the 
yard,  Tom  said  to  his  pal,  "  'E  must  ha'  bin  a 
warm  'un  in  his  young  days.  Good- 'carted, 
too.  But  why  the  old  bloke  should  call  his 
'oss  Ethelberta,  seeing  he  lost  his  money  after 
all,  licks  me  'oiler." 

"Just  look  at  the  pair  on  'em!"  said  the 


246  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

pal.  "  Why,  to  see  that  mare  walkin'  down  the 
yard,  you  might  think  as  she  was  a  little  gel 
goin'  to  Sunday-school.  But  you'll  never 
persuade  me  as  she  isn't  foxin'.  She'll  do  a 
down  on  him  yet,  you  mark  my  word  I  She's 
as  tricky  as  a  woman.  1  can  see  it  in  her 
eye." 

"Ha!"  said  Tom,  "that  reminds  me  of 
something  his  Lordship  once  said  to  me.  It 
'appened  at  the  Dublin  'Orse  Show,  as  his 
Lordship  was  one  o'  the  judges,  with  me  by  to 
'elp  'im.  There  was  a  roan  mare  just  brought 
into  the  ring,  and  his  Lordship  says  to  me, 
lookin'  'ard  at  the  mare  all  the  time,  *Tom, 
my  boy,'  he  says,  '  did  you  ever  'ave  a  sweet- 
heart ? '  *  Yes,  my  Lord,'  I  says,  *  several.' 
'  Are  they  livin'  or  dead  ? '  says  he.  '  I  never 
killed  none  on  'em,  my  Lord,'  I  says ;  *  that's 
all/  knows  about  it.'  'Treat  'em  'andsome, 
my  boy,  treat  *em  'andsome,'  says  he  in  the 
solemnest  voice  you  ever  'card  ;  '  it's  desperate 
bad  luck  on  a  man  as  has  to  do  wi'  'osses 
when  a'  angry  sweetheart  dies  on  him.  And 
look  'ere,  Tom,'  he  says  in  a  whisper,  'from 


THE   PROFESSOR^S  MARE  247 

the  way  the  back  o'  my  'ead's  a-tinglin',  it's 
a  angry  sweetheart  as  we're  judgin'  now. — 
Pass  her  down,'  he  says  to  the  groom  as  were 
leadin'  the  mare,  'pass  her  down.  Divil  a 
prize  shall  that  one  have  !  She's  a  dangerous 
bad  'oss." 


Ill 

Among  Professor  Scattergood's  numerous 
admirers  there  have  always  been  some  to 
whom  his  arguments  for  the  Friendliness  of 
the  Universe  proved  unconvincing.  They 
would  begin  by  pulling  his  logic  to  pieces, 
and  conclude  by  saying,  with  the  air  of  people 
who  keep  their  strongest  argument  to  the  last : 
*'  It  looks,  at  all  events,  as  though  the  friendly 
Universe  had  done  our  good  Professor  a  most 
unfriendly  turn  by  depriving  him  of  Ethelberta 
and  substituting  the  present  Mrs  Scattergood 
in  her  place."  And  there  was  no  denying  the 
force  of  the  argument. 

For  half  a  long  lifetime  John  Scattergood 
had  lived  his  earnest  days  with  little  aid  from 


«48  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

those  sources  of  spiritual  vitality  upon  which 
most  of  us  depend.  Love  in  all  its  finer 
essences  had  been  denied  him — denied  him, 
as  he  knew  better  than  anybody,  by  that  very 
Universe  whose  friendliness  he  had  set  himself 
to  prove.  Among  the  many  lonely  souls  who 
live  in  crowded  places  it  would  be  hard  to 
find  one  lonelier  than  he.  Even  the  demon- 
strated friendliness  of  the  Universe  did  not 
seem  to  thaw  his  heart,  or  to  break  down 
the  barriers  of  his  reserve.  The  surest  means 
of  discovering  his  inner  mind  was  to  put  your 
ear  to  the  keyhole  on  one  of  the  many  occa- 
sions when  he  was  talking  to  himself.  "  Wie 
brennt  mein  alte  Wunde  !  "  is  what  you  would 
often  hear  him  say. 

Mrs  Scattergood  was  said  to  have  once  been 
a  very  beautiful  woman ;  and  I  can  well 
believe  it  was  even  so.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  a  baronet,  and  had  been  brought  up  to  think 
that  the  mission  of  women  in  this  world  is  to 
have  a  good  time.  But  her  husband  had 
thwarted  this  mission;  at  all  events,  he  had 
not  provided  its  fulfilment.     And  the   lady 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  249 

made  it  a  point  of  daily  practice  to  remind 
him  of  the  failure,  driving  the  reminder  home 
with  the  help  of  expletives  learnt  in  her 
father's  stables  long  ago.  John  Scattergood 
would  retire  from  these  interviews  talking  to 
himself.  "  If  I  could  keep  her  from  the 
morphia,"  he  would  say,  "  I  think  T  could 
bear  the  rest."  He  would  then  shut  himself 
up  in  his  study,  would  take  out  the  miniature 
of  Ethelberta  from  his  secret  drawer — a  foolish 
thing  to  do,  but  a  thing  which  somehow  he 
couldn't  help ;  would  shake  his  head  and  say 
for  the  thousandth  time,  "  Wie  brennt  mein 
alte  Wunde  ! "  After  which,  having  brushed 
aside  a  tear,  he  would  take  up  his  pen  and 
continue  his  proof  of  the  Friendliness  of  the 
Universe  according  to  the  Inflexible  Method. 

If  Scattergood  could  have  seen  himself,  as  I 
see  him  in  memory,  seated  in  his  quiet  study, 
with  the  household  skeleton,  the  philosophical 
thesis,  and  the  gold-rimmed  miniature  of  Ethel- 
berta, in  their  respective  positions,  forming  as 
it  were  the  three  points  of  a  mystic  triangle, 
I  think  he  might  have  discerned  in  the  Universe 


250  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

something  of  deeper  import  than  ever  appeared 
within  the  four  corners  of  his  philosophy.  But 
alas !  All  Q.E.D.'s  are  fatal  to  emotion,  and 
it  was  Q.E.D.  that  Scattergood  had  placed  at 
the  end  of  his  great  thesis.  In  some  respects 
he  resembled  that  other  great  philosopher  who 
became  so  absorbed  in  his  proof  of  the  existence 
of  God  that  he  forgot  to  say  his  prayers.  The 
fact  of  the  matter  is,  that  after  proving  the 
ultimate  nature  of  the  Universe  to  be  friendly 
his  heart  was  no  warmer  than  before.  Indeed, 
his  interest  in  that  august  Object  had  stiffened 
into  the  chill  rigidity  of  a  professional  pose. 
His  thesis,  by  becoming  demonstrably  true, 
had  ceased  to  be  morally  exciting.  He  actually 
looked  forward  to  his  afternoon  ride  as  a  means 
of  getting  the  taste  of  the  Universe  out  of  his 
mouth. 

By  long  and  devious  ways,  John  Scattergood 
had  thus  arrived  at  the  point  from  which  he 
had  set  out ;  he  had  arrived,  I  mean,  at  that 
extremely  common  state  of  mind  when  one 
actual  smile  seen  on  the  face  of  the  world,  or 
a  moment  of  contact  with  any  one  of  the  in- 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  251 

numerable  friendly  presences  which  the  world 
harbours,  was  worth  more  to  him,  both  as 
philosopher  and  man,  than  were  all  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  Inflexible  Method,  past,  present, 
and  to  come.  And  I  have  now  to  record  that 
such  a  smile  was  vouchsafed  to  him,  and  such 
a  living  contact  provided,  by  the  mediation  of 
a  four-footed  beast. 

Let  no  one  suppose,  however,  that  our  Pro- 
fessor was  led  astray  by  fatuous  fancies  concern- 
ing his  mare.  He  did  not  j  ump  to  the  conclusion 
that  she  was  a  reincarnation  of  the  long-lost 
Ethelberta.  The  Inflexible  Method,  thank 
God,  saved  him  from  that.  But  if  you  ask 
me  how  it  all  came  about,  I  am  bound  to 
confess  I  don't  know.  All  we  can  be  sure  of 
is  that  his  mare  did  for  Professor  Scattergood 
something  which  a  lifetime  of  reflection  had 
been  unable  to  accomplish.  No  doubt  the 
lifetime  of  reflection  had  dried  the  fuel.  But 
it  was  the  influence  of  Ethelberta  that  brought 
the  flame. 

"  It's  quite  true,"  he  said  one  day,  "  that  I 
prepare  my  lectures  on  horseback ;  and  people 


252  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

tell  me  that  I  have  fallen  into  a  habit  of  pre- 
paring them  aloud.  But  the  fact  is,  I  am  going 
to  deliver  a  new  course ;  and  I  find  that  horse- 
exercise  quickens  the  action  of  the  brain — a 
necessary  thing  at  my  time  of  life,  when  one's 
powers  of  expression  are  on  the  wane,  and  new 
ideas  increasingly  difficult  to  put  into  form." 

"  You  ride  a  beautiful  animal,"  said  his 
interlocutor. 

"  Yes,  and  as  good  as  she's  beautiful."     And 
then  in  his  softest  voice  he  repeated  the  line : 
"  Tra  beir  e  buona,  non  so  qual  fosse  piu." 

This  favourable  view  of  Ethelberta's  qualities 
was  by  no  means  convincing  to  Professor 
Scattergood's  friends.  We  knew  she  was 
"  bella  "  ;  but  we  doubted  the  "  buona."  The 
spectacle  of  an  elderly  Doctor  of  Divinity 
setting  out  for  his  daily  ride  on  a  magnificent 
racehorse  in  the  pink  of  condition  was  indeed 
a  vision  to  fill  the  bold  with  astonishment  and 
the  timid  with  alarm.  "The  man  is  mad," 
said  some ;  "  will  no  one  warn  him  of  his 
danger?"  Various  attempts  were  made,  but 
they  came  to  nothing.     Knowing  myself  to  be 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  253 

the  least  cogent  of  advisers,  I  kept  silence  to 
the  last ;  but  when  all  the  others  had  failed  I 
resolved  to  try  my  hand. 

"  Scattergood,"  I  said,  "  that  thoroughbred 
of  yours  is  not  a  suitable  mount  for  a  man  of 
your  years.  She  ought  to  be  ridden  by  a 
jockey.     I  wish  to  Heaven  you  would  sell  her." 

"  Nothing  in  this  world  would  induce  me  to 
part  with  Ethelberta,"  he  answered. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  it.  There's  no  man 
living  in  England  at  this  moment  whose  life 
is  more  precious  than  yours.     We  can't  afford 

to  lose    you.     Then   think   of  your "     I 

was  going  to  say  "  your  wife,"  but  I  checked 
myself  in  time :  "  Think  of  your  work.  It's  a 
very  serious  matter.  Sure  as  fate  that  brute  " 
— ("  She's  not  a  brute^  he  interrupted) — 
"  sure  as  fate  that  beauty  will  run  away  with 
you  one  of  these  days  and  break  your  neck." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  Because  she's  run  away  with  you  twice 
already,  and  you  escaped  only  by  a  miracle. 
She'll  do  it  again,  and  next  time  you  may  not 
be  quite  so  fortunate." 


254  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

"  She'll  never  do  it  again,"  he  said  in  the 
same  quiet  voice. 

*'  How  do  you  know  that  ? "  I  said,  thinking 
that  I  had  turned  the  tables  on  him. 

"  Never  mind  how.     I  know  it  well  enough." 

"  By  the  Inflexible  Method  ? " 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  said  with  some  annoy- 
ance. **  There  are  different  kinds  of  certainty, 
and  this  is  one  of  the  most  certain  of  all." 

**  More  certain  than  the  Inflexible ? " 

"Oh,  damn  the  Inflexible  Method!"  he 
cried.  "  I'm  sick  to  death  of  it.  You'll  do 
me  a  kindness  by  not  mentioning  it  again." 

"  All  right ;  I'm  as  sick  of  it  as  you  are. 
After  all,  it's  not  your  philosophy  I'm  thinking 
of;  what  I  am  concerned  about  is  your  life. 
Now,  Scattergood,"  I  added — for  I  was  an  old 
friend, — **  frankly,  between  you  and  me,  don't 
you  think  you're  a  fool  ? " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  and  always  have 
been  a "  and  here  he  used  that  objection- 
able word — "  always  have  been  a  certain  sort 
of  fool.  But  not  about  Ethelberta.  We 
understand  each  other  perfectly.     She  looks 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  255 

after  me  and  takes  care  of  me  like  a — like 
a  mother.  My  life  is  absolutely  safe  in  her 
hands — I  mean,  of  course,  on  her  back." 

'*  Confound  those  mixed  metaphors ! "  I 
cried.  "  That's  the  seventh  I've  heard  to-day, 
and  they're  horribly  confusing,  even  when  they 
are  corrected  as  you  corrected  yours.  Now, 
what  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  curiously.  "  I  mean,"  he 
said,  "  that  Ethelberta  may  be  trusted  to  the 
uttermost." 

"  Scattergood,"  I  said,  "  there's  a  sort  of 
friendship  in  the  Universe  which  does  not 
scruple  on  occasion  to  break  every  bone  in  a 
man's  body,  and  I  greatly  fear  that  Ethelberta 
may  be  one  of  its  ministers.  Now,  here's  a  plain 
question.  Would  you  be  prepared  to  stand 
before  your  class  to-morrow  morning  and  bid 
them  trust  the  Universe  for  no  better  reasons 
than  those  on  which  you  trust  your  life  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  that  bru of  Ethelberta  ? ' 

"  I  only  wish  I  could  find  them  reasons  half 
as  good." 

"  Half  as  good  as  what  ? " 


^56  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"As  those  for  which  I  trust  my  life  to 
Ethelberta." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

*'  I  can't  tell  you.  If  I  did  tell,  the  reasons 
would  lose  their  force.  But  until  they  are 
uttered  they  are  quite  conclusive." 

"  What ! "  I  cried ;  "  are  the  reasons  taboo  ? 
Have  you  found  a  magic  formula  ? " 

"  Don't  jest,"  he  said.  "  The  matter's  far 
too  serious.  There  is  more  at  stake  than  the 
mere  safety  of  my  life." 

"  Then  you  admit  your  life  is  at  stake,"  said 
I ;  and  I  thought  I  had  scored  a  point. 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  other  things  are — things 
of  far  greater  importance.  My  life,  however, 
runs  no  risk  from  Ethelberta." 

"  Then  tell  me  this.  Who  runs  the  bigger 
risk — you  who  trust  your  life  to  a  beast  for 
no  reasons  you  can  assign ;  or  we,  your  dis- 
ciples, who  trust  ourselves  to  the  Universe  in 
the  name  of  your  philosophy  ? " 

"  By  far  the  bigger  risk,"  he  answered,  "  is 
yours." 

"  Then   you   mean   to   say  that   you   have 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  257 

better  reasons  for  trusting  your  beast  than  we 
have  for  trusting  your  system  ? " 

"  I  do." 

"  You  are  quite  serious  ? " 

"  I  am." 

"  But  follow  this  out,"  I  said.  "  If  we,  your 
disciples,  run  the  bigger  risk  in  trusting  our- 
selves to  your  system,  you,  its  author,  run  the 
same  risk  yourself." 

*'  You're  strangely  mistaken,"  he  answered. 

"  Surely,"  said  1,  "  we  are  all  in  the  same 
boat.  What  reasons  can  you  have,  other  than 
those  you  have  given  us,  for  trusting  your 
conclusion  as  to  the  friendliness  of  the 
Universe  ?  " 

"  You  forget,"  he  said.  "  In  addition  to  the 
reasons  I  have  given  you,  I  have  all  those 
which  induce  me  to  trust  my  life  to  Ethel- 
berta." 

"  But  how  do  they  affect  your  philosophy  ? " 

"  They  affect  it  vitally." 

*'  In  the  way  of  confirmation  or  otherwise  ? " 

"  Confirmation." 

'*  You  mean  that  your  philosophy  is  already 

17 


258  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

conclusively  proved,  and  yet  made  more  con- 
clusive by  Ethelberta  ? " 

"  Put  it  that  way,  if  you  like." 

"  Is  there  no  hope,"  I  asked,  "  that  you  will 
be  able  one  day  to  communicate  the  reasons 
to  us  ? " 

"  None,"  he  answered.  "  But  what  I  can 
do,  and  will  do,  if  I  live  long  enough,  is  to 
show  that  all  of  you  are  acting  much  as  I  am 
acting  in  regard  to  Ethelberta." 

*'  But  we  are  not  all  risking  our  lives  on 
thoroughbred  horses." 

"  You  are  running  far  bigger  risks  than 
that,"  he  said ;  "  and  you  are  fools  not  to  see 
it.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  am  revising 
my  lectures  ? " 

"  Scattergood,"  I  said,  "  it's  plain  to  me  that 
you  will  have  to  do  one  of  two  things.  Either 
you  must  radically  change  your  system — or 
you  must  sell  Ethelberta.  Personally,  I  hope 
you'll  do  the  last." 

"  In  any  case,"  he  replied,  "  I  shall  not  sell 
Ethelberta." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  may  the  friendly  Universe 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  259 

preserve  you  from   being  killed."    And  with 
that  I  took  my  departure. 


IV 

That  very  afternoon,  Professor  Scattergood, 
arrayed  in  a  pair  of  goodly  riding-boots,  went 
round  to  the  stables  to  mount  his  mare.  The 
groom  met  him  as  usual. 

"  She's  been  wonderful  restless  all  night,  sir," 
said  he.  "  She's  broke  her  halter  and  a'most 
kicked  the  door  out.  And  she's  bitin'  as 
though  she'd  just  been  married  to  the  devil's 
son." 

"  She  wants  exercise,"  said  Scattergood. 
"  Put  the  saddle  on  at  once." 

"  Not  me,  sir ! "  answered  the  groom.  "  It's 
as  much  as  a  man's  life's  worth  to  go  near 
her." 

"  Bring  me  the  saddle,  then,  and  I'll  do  it 
myself,"  said  Scattergood.  He  opened  the 
door  of  the  stable,  and  the  moment  the  light 
was  let  in  Ethelberta  announced  her  intentions 
by  a  smashing  kick  on  the  wooden  partition. 


260  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

"  Have  a  care,  sir,"  cried  the  terrified  groom, 
as  Scattergood,  with  the  saddle  on  his  arm, 
passed  through  the  door.  "  She'll  give  you 
no  time  to  say  yer  prayers.  Look  out,  sir  I 
She'll  whip  round  on  you  like  a  bit  o'  sin  and 
put  her  heel  through  you  before  you  know 
where  you  are.  Good  Lord ! "  he  added, 
addressing  another  man,  "  it's  a  hexecution  1 
The  gen'l'man'U  be  in  heaven  in  less  than 
half  a  minute." 

"  Ethelberta,  Ethelberta,  what's  the  meaning 
of  all  this  ? "  said  Scattergood  in  a  quiet  voice, 
as  he  faced  the  animal's  blazing  eyes.  "  Come, 
come,  sweetheart,  let  us  behave  for  once  like 
rational  beings."  And  he  put  his  arm  round 
Ethelberta's  neck  and  rubbed  his  cheek  against 
her  nose. 

In  five  minutes  the  saddle  was  on,  and 
Scattergood,  seated  on  as  quiet  a  beast  as 
ever  submitted  to  bridle,  was  riding  down 
the  stable-yard. 

"  That  ole  Johnnie  knows  a  trick  or  two 
about  'osses,"  said  the  groom  as  soon  as  the 
Professor  was  out  of  hearing.     "I'd  give  a 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  261 

month's  wages  to  know  how  he  quieted  that 
mare.  Did  ye  'ear  'im  talkin'  to  'er.  Bill  ? 
Well,  could  you  'ear  what  'e  said  ?  No  ? 
Well,  you  listen  the  next  time  you  'ear  'im 
talkin'  to  her  and  see  if  you  can  get  the  very 
words  'e  says.  It's  the  words  as  does  it ;  and 
if  we  can  find  out  what  they  are,  it'll  be  worth 
'undreds  o'  pounds  to  you  and  me.  I  tell  yer, 
it's  the  words  as  does  it !  I  reckon  as  it's 
summat  out  o'  the  Bible.  Why,  when  I  was 
groom  to  Lord  Charles  I  knowed  a  man  as 
give  Scripture  to  'osses  regular.  A  Psalm- 
smitin'  ole  teapot  he  were;  and  whenever 
we'd  got  a  kicker,  he  used  to  put  his  'ead  in 
at  the  stable-door  and  say  a  hymn.  Then 
he'd  go  in  and  get  'old  o'  the  'oss's  ear  between 
his  teeth  and  say  texts  o'  Scripture  right  into 
it's  ear-'ole.  I've  knowed  a  gen'l'man  give 
him  five  pounds  for  scripturin'  a  'oss.  Only, 
don't  you  let  on  to  the  other  blokes  what  I've 
told  you  now.  Keep  it  quiet.  Bill,  and  you 
be  here  wi'  me  when  Dr  Scattergood  comes 
back  at  four  o'clock." 

"  All  right,"  said  Bill ;  "we'll  get  the  words 


Sm  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

— but  they  won't  be  no  use  to  its  when  we've 
got  'em.  I've  'eard  all  about  scripturin'  'osses, 
but  you  won't  ketch  me  tryin'  it  on — I  can 
tell  yer  that !  You  know  that  sailer-faced  man 
as  works  for  Bullivant — 'im  as  limps  on  his 
left  leg?" 

"  Do  you  mean  'im  wi'  the  watery  eyes  ? " 
asked  the  other. 

"  That's  'im.  Well,  he  was  takin'  some  polo- 
ponies  to  London,  and  one  on  'em  was  a  bit  o 
reg'lar  hot  ginger,  and  begins  buckin'  one  day 
in  the  middle  o'  the  road.  There  was  a  chap 
workin'  in  a  field  as  sees  what  was  goin'  on, 
and  'e  comes  up  and  offers  to  scripture  the 
pony  for  a  pint  o'  ale.  So  he  takes  the  pony's 
ear  in  his  teeth  and  scriptures  'im  same  as 
that  man  did  as  was  workin'  wi'  you  at  Lord 
Charles's.  *  Genesis  and  Revelations,'  he  says, 
whispering  into  the  pony's  ear ;  and  the  pony 
became  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  The  sailer-faced 
chap  'eard  'im,  and  says  'e  to  'imself,  '  I'll 
remember  them  words.'  So  the  next  time  as 
they  had  a  kicker  at  Bullivant 's,  the  sailer-faced 
chap  thinks  'e'll  try  'is  'and  at  scripturin'  'im. 


THE   PROFESSOR^S   MARE  263 

So  out  he  goes  for  a  drop  o'  whisky,  to  put  a 
bit  o'  'eart  into  'im,  for  between  you  and  me  'e 
didn't  'alf  hke  his  job.  Then  he  goes  into  the 
stables  and  makes  a  grab  at  the  'oss's  ear.  But 
the  'oss  catches  'old  of  his  breeches  with  his 
teeth  and  pitches  'im  to  the  back  o'  the  stable 
in  no  time.  The  sailer-faced  chap,  seeing 
'imself  under  the  'oss's  'eels,  roars  out  '  Genesis 
and  Revelations '  just  as  though  'is  'ouse  was 
on  fire.  And  no  sooner  had  'e  spoken  them 
words  than  the  'oss  let  'im  'ave  it  red-'ot. 
Broke  'is  thigh  in  two  places,  that  it  did,  and 
kep  'im  in  'orspital  three  months.  And  that's 
'ow  'e  got  'is  limp." 

"  Looks  as  though  it  were  no  use  gettin'  the 
right  words  unless  you're  the  right  sort  o' 
man"  said  the  other  groom. 

"  That's  what  does  it,"  answered  Bill.  '*  My 
old  dad,  as  was  in  the  Balaklava  Charge,  used 
to  say  as  no  man  could  scripture  a  'oss  unless 
he'd  been  conve?'ted" 

"  I  reckon  that's  what  'appened  to  old 
Shiny-boots  and  his  Ethelberta.  Haven't  I 
always  said  that  he  must  'a  been  a  warm  'un 


264  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

in  his  young  days  ?  What  about  'im  putt  in' 
his  money  on  that  'oss  as  won  the  Buddie 
Stakes  ?  And  what  about  'im  bein'  robbed  of 
his  winnings  just  as  'e  was  gettin'  'ome  ?  He 
'adn't  got  'is  white  tie  on  then,  Bill,  eh  ?  What 
state  must  a  man  be  in  when  'e  comes  'ome 
after  a  race  and  lets  another  feller  pinch  his 
money  out  of  his  inside  pocket  ? " 

"  Drunk  as  a  lord,  no  doubt,"  said  Bill ; 
"  though  to  see  the  old  joker  now  you  wouldn't 
think  it." 

Meanwhile  Professor  Scattergood,  after 
trotting  three  or  four  miles  down  the  London 
Road,  had  turned  into  the  by-lane  that  led  to 
the  villages  of  Medbury  and  Charlton  Towers. 
Up  to  this  point  the  behaviour  of  Ethelberta 
had  been  beyond  reproach.  But  as  they 
turned  down  the  lane  a  tramp  with  a  wooden 
leg,  who  was  nursing  a  fire  of  sticks  in  the 
hedge,  some  fifty  yards  ahead,  got  up  and 
stepped  out  into  the  road.  For  a  few 
moments  Ethelberta  did  not  see  him,  and 
maintained    her    swinging    trot.       Professor 


THE   PROFESSOR^S  MARE  265 

Scattergood  tightened  his  grip.  The  mare 
went  on  until  the  tramp  was  not  more  than 
five  paces  distant,  and  then,  suddenly  noticing 
his  deformity,  she  planted  her  fore-feet  and 
stopped  dead.  Scattergood,  nearly  unhorsed 
by  the  sudden  stoppage,  was  thrown  off  his 
guard,  and  in  momentary  confusion  of  mind 
called  out  in  his  rasping  voice,  "  Steady,  Meg, 
steady ! " 

"  Meg  " :  the  sound  stung  Ethelberta  like  the 
lash  of  a  whip,  and  in  an  instant  she  was  off. 

Professor  Scattergood  did  not  lose  his  pre- 
sence of  mind.  For  a  moment  he  tried  to  check 
the  bolting  mare,  but  feeling  her  mouth  like 
iron  he  loosened  his  rein  and  let  her  race.  He 
knew  the  road  for  the  next  five  miles  was 
fairly  straight,  except  at  one  point ;  there  was 
a  long  steep  hill  on  this  side  of  Charlton 
Towers,  and  Ife  reflected  that  his  mare  was 
certain  to  be  blown  before  she  reached  the 
top.  He  could  keep  his  seat,  and,  barring  a 
collision  with  some  passing  vehicle,  the  chances 
were  that  he  would  win  through.  He  shouted, 
indeed,  and  tried  such  resources  of  language 


266  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

as  his  breathlessness  allowed ;  but  Ethelberta 
was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  endearments,  and 
the  race  had  to  be  run.  So  Scattergood  sat 
tight  and  awaited  the  issue. 

His  mind  was  perfectly  clear.  It  seemed  as 
if  his  desperate  condition  had  given  him  a 
large  quiet  leisure  for  introspection.  As 
objects  on  the  road  shot  by  him  he  noted 
each  one ;  and,  with  a  curious  double  con- 
sciousness, began  watching  the  flow  of  his  own 
thoughts.  He  even  wondered  at  the  calmness 
and  lucidity  of  his  mind,  and  asked  himself 
the  reason.  "  Perhaps  it  is  the  imminence  of 
death,"  he  reflected ;  **  but  death,  now  that  it 
has  come  so  near,  has  no  terrors.  That  is 
John  Hawksbury's  cottage.  1  wonder  if  his 
son  has  returned  from  India.  I  must  be 
careful  on  the  bridge.  God  grant  that  we 
don't  meet  a  cart ! " 

They  were  nearing  a  village,  and  Scattergood 
heard  the  pealing  of  bells  mingled  with  the 
roar  of  the  wind  in  his  ear.  As  they  shot  past 
the  church  he  saw  a  wedding-party  standing 
aghast  in  the  churchyard.      He  saw  the  bride, 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  267 

leaning  on  the  bridegroom's  arm.  The  party 
had  just  emerged  from  the  porch,  and  the  look 
of  terror  on  the  bride's  face  was  clearly  visible 
to  Scattergood.  "  Poor  girl,"  he  reflected  ; 
*'  she'll  take  this  for  a  bad  omen."  He  saw 
men  running  and  heard  their  shouts.  At  the 
end  of  the  village  street  a  brave  lad  stood 
with  arms  outstretched.  "A  hero,"  thought 
Scattergood ;  "  he  will  surely  be  rewarded  in 
the  resurrection  of  the  just." 

They  were  out  of  the  village  in  a  flash.  A 
furlong  beyond  it  the  road  turned  sharply  at 
right  angles.  "  She  will  jump  the  hedge  at 
that  point,"  thought  Scattergood  ;  "I  must  be 
ready."  Ethelberta  swung  round  the  bend 
with  hardly  a  check ;  but  the  rider,  ready  for 
that  also,  still  kept  his  seat.  A  moment  later 
she  leapt  over  some  obstacle  in  the  road  which 
Scattergood,  short-sighted  as  he  was,  could 
not  see.  His  glasses  were  gone,  and  the  cold 
wind  beating  in  his  eyes  had  half  blinded  him. 
He  was  losing  the  sense  of  his  whereabouts, 
and  there  were  moments  when  he  saw  himself 
as  a  mere  inanimate  object  held  in  the  grip  of 


268  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

the  brute  force  that  was  pulsing  beneath  him. 
"  And  yet,"  he  reflected,  "  I  am  not  utterly 
abandoned  after  all.  I  know  what  is  happen- 
ing ;  the  leaf  on  the  torrent  knows  nothing. 
A  point  for  a  lecture  on  Necessity  and  Free- 
dom— all  the  difference  between  the  two  in- 
volved in  that  single  fact  I  To  have  one's 
wits  about  him  and  be  unafraid — what  a  power 
is  that  to  break  the  ruling  of  Fate  !  Nothing 
save  a  shock  can  unhorse  me.  It  is  a  match 
between  Pure  Reason  in  Scattergood  and 
madness  in  Ethelberta.  Would  that  it  had 
been  so  in  the  old  days  I  But,  please  God,  I 
shall  beat  her  this  time.  Ha !  She's  giving  in  I " 
They  were  breasting  the  two-mile  hill  on 
this  side  Charlton  Towers,  and  with  the  rise 
in  the  gradient  came  a  slackening  of  the  pace. 
Ethelberta,  with  head  down,  still  held  the  bit 
between  her  teeth ;  but  the  first  rush  of  her 
speed  was  exhausted.  Scattergood  felt  the 
difference  instantly,  and  marked  its  gradual 
increase,  promising  himself  that  he  would 
have  her  in  hand  before  they  reached  the 
level  ground  on  the  top  of  the  hill.      Some 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  269 

distance  ahead  of  him  he  could  dimly  see  the 
form  of  a  tall  tree.  With  admirable  presence 
of  mind  he  roughly  measured  the  distance  and 
said  to  himself :  "  On  passing  that  tree,  but  not 
before,  I  will  tighten  the  rein,  and  gradually 
tighten  it  until  on  reaching  the  summit  I  shall 
have  completely  pulled  her  up." 

They  were  almost  abreast  of  the  tree  when 
a  dark-plumaged  bird,  frightened  from  its 
roost,  fluttered  out  of  the  upper  branches 
and  flew  with  a  whir  of  wings  right  athwart 
the  road.  At  the  sight  of  the  black  object, 
flung  as  it  were  into  her  eyes,  Ethelberta 
made  a  rapid  swerve,  and,  placing  her  near 
fore-foot  on  a  rolling  stone,  plunged  forward 
with  her  head  between  her  knees.  Down  she 
came,  almost  turning  a  somersault  with  the 
violence  of  her  impetus,  and  Professor  Scatter- 
good,  hurled  far  out  of  his  saddle,  fell  prone 
with  a  terrific  shock  on  the  newly  metalled  road. 

When  consciousness  at  length  returned  it 
brought  no  pain  of  wounds  ;  but  cold  pierced 
him  like  a  knife  and  a  shock  of  sounds  was  in 


«70  ALI,  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

his  ears.  A  flood  of  memories  was  sweeping 
over  him.  Beginning  in  the  distant  past,  and 
streaming  through  the  years  with  incredihle 
rapidity,  they  terminated  abruptly  in  a  vision 
seen  far  below  him,  as  though  he  were  a  watcher 
in  the  skies.  He  saw  a  deeply  wounded  man 
Ijdng  outstretched,  as  it  seemed,  on  the  cir- 
cumpolar  ice,  and  a  horse  stood  by  him  like 
a  ministering  priest.  The  horse  was  warming 
the  man  with  its  breath,  and  the  steam  of 
its  body  rose  high  into  the  frozen  air.  The 
consciousness  of  Scattergood,  hovering  in  a 
present  which  had  well-nigh  become  a  past, 
was  on  the  borderland  which  separates  a 
running  experience  from  a  completed  fact — 
vaguely  suffering,  yet  aloof  from  the  sufferer, 
whom  he  seemed  to  remember  as  one  who 
long  ago  endured  the  bitterness  of  death. 
The  vision  was  hardly  more  than  a  spectacle, 
the  last  link  in  a  long  chain  of  memories,  and 
the  past  would  have  claimed  it  entirely  had 
not  the  stunning  sounds  still  fettered  some 
fragment  of  conscious  distress  in  the  body  of 
the  freezing  man. 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  271 

The  din  increased,  and  in  great  bewilderment 
of  mind  he  began  to  seek  for  its  cause.  Now 
it  was  one  thing,  now  another.  "  This  sound," 
he  thought,  "  is  the  grind  and  roar  of  colHding 
ice-floes  and  the  crackle  of  the  Northern 
Lights."  The  sounds  thus  identified  immedi- 
ately became  something  else.  They  seemed 
to  scatter  and  retreat,  and  then,  concentrating 
again,  returned  as  the  tolling  of  an  enormous 
bell.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came  till  the 
quivering  metal  lay  close  against  his  ear  and 
the  iron  tongue  of  the  bell  smote  him  like  a 
bludgeon. 

A  warmth  passed  over  his  face  and  a  troubled 
thought  began  to  disturb  him.  "  I  am  sleeping 
through  the  summer ;  I  must  rouse  myself 
before  winter  comes  back."  And  with  a  great 
reluctant  effort  he  opened  his  eyes. 

A  scarlet  veil  hung  before  them.  He  tried 
to  thrust  it  aside  with  his  hands,  which  seemed 
to  fail  him  and  miss  the  mark.  Succeeding 
at  last,  he  saw  a  vast  creature  standing 
motionless  above  him,  its  hot  breath  mingling 
with  his,  its  great  eyes,  only  a  hand-breadth 


«7«  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

away,  looking  with  infinite  tenderness  into 
his  own. 

He  tried  to  recollect  himself,  and  something 
in  his  hand  gave  him  a  clue.  "  This  thing," 
he  mused,  "is  surely  my  handkerchief.  It 
belongs  to  John  Scattergood.  It  is  one  of  a 
dozen  his  poor  drug-sodden  wife  gave  him  on 
Christmas  Day.  And  here,  close  to  me,  is 
Ethelberta.  How  red  her  feet  are ! "  And 
he  stared  vacantly  at  a  deep  gash  on  Ethel- 
berta's  chest,  and  watched  the  great  gouts  that 
were  dripping  from  her  knees  and  forming 
crimson  pools  around  her  hoofs. 

The  crimson  pools  were  full  of  mystery ; 
they  fascinated  and  troubled  him ;  they  were 
problems  in  philosophy  he  couldn't  solve. 
"  Surely,"  he  thought,  "  I  have  solved  them, 
but  forgotten  the  solution.  I  have  lost  the 
notes  of  my  lecture.  Dyed  garments  from 
Bozrah — red,  red  !  The  colour  of  my  doctor's 
gown — I  have  trodden  the  wine-press  alone. 
The  colour  of  poppies — drowsy  syrups — deadly 
drugs !  The  ground-tint  of  the  Universe — a 
difficult   problem !      Strange   that  a   friendly 


THE   PROFESSOR^S   MARE  278 

Universe  should  be  so  red.  Gentlemen,  I  am 
not  well  to-day — don't  laugh  at  a  sick  man. 
The  red  is  quite  simple.  It  only  means  that 
someone  is  hurt.  Not  I,  certainly.  Who  can 
it  be  ?  Ah,  now  I  see.  Poor  old  girl ! "  And 
he  feebly  reached  out  his  handkerchief,  already 
soaked  with  his  own  blood,  as  though  he  would 
staunch  the  streaming  wounds  of  Ethelberta. 

As  he  did  this,  the  great  bell  broke  out 
afresh.  It  fell  away  into  the  distance.  A 
second  joined  it ;  a  third,  a  fourth,  a  fifth, 
until  a  whole  peal  was  ringing  and  the  air 
seemed  full  of  music  and  of  summer  warmth. 

Then  Scattergood  began  to  dream  his  last 
dream,  ineffably  content. 

He  stood  by  the  open  door  of  a  church : 
inside  he  could  see  the  ringers  pulling  at  the 
ropes.  And  Ethelberta,  young  and  happy  as 
himself,  was  leaning  on  his  arm. 

"  Sweetheart,"  she  whispered,  "  let  us  behave 
ourselves  like  rational  beings." 

He  laughed  and  would  have  spoken.  But 
a  din  of  clattering  hoofs,  which  drowned  the 

pealing  of  the  bells,  struck  him  dumb.     The 

18 


274  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

swift  image  of  a  grey-headed  man,  riding  a 
maddened  horse,  shot  out  of  the  darkness, 
passed  by,  and  vanished;  and  the  wedding- 
party  stood  aghast. 

"  Who  is  yonder  rider  ? "  he  said,  with  a  great 
effort,  bending  over  Ethelberta. 

"A  man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with 
grief,"  said  a  soft  voice  in  his  ear. 

A  thousand  echoes  caught  up  the  words 
and  flung  them  far  abroad.  Then  thunders 
awoke  behind,  and  rolled  after  the  echoes  like 
pursuing  cavalry.  "  A  man  of  sorrows,''  cried 
the  echoes.  "  He  has  come  through  great 
tribulations"  the  thunders  shouted  in  reply. 

On  went  the  chase,  the  flying  echoes  in 
retreat,  the  deep-voiced  thunder  in  pursuit. 
Then  Scattergood  saw  himself  swept  into  the 
torrent  of  riders,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  solid 
frame  of  things  were  dissolved  into  a  flight  of 
whispers  and  a  pursuit  of  shouts.  A  fugitive 
secret,  that  fled  with  unapproachable  speed, 
was  the  quarry,  and  the  hunters  were  billows 
of  sound,  and  the  rhythm  of  beating  hoofs 
gave  the  time  to  their  undulations.     A  tide  of 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  275 

joy  awoke  within  the  dreamer ;  he  was  horsed 
on  the  thunder ;  he  was  leading  the  field  ;  he 
was  close  on  the  heels  of  the  game ;  he  was 
captain  of  the  host  to  an  innumerable  company 
of  loud-voiced  and  meaningless  things.  Then 
would  come  expansions,  accelerations,  and 
sudden  checks.  Fissures  yawned  in  front ; 
mountains  barred  the  way;  the  time  was 
broken,  and  voices  from  the  rear  were  calling 
a  halt.  But  the  thunders  have  the  bit  between 
their  teeth ;  they  are  clearing  the  chasms ; 
they  are  leaping  over  the  mountain  tops  ;  and 
clouds  of  witnesses  are  shouting  "  Well  done  ! " 
The  wide  heavens  fill  with  the  tumult ; 
myriads  of  eager  stars  are  watching,  and 
great  waters  are  clapping  their  hands. 

"  Who  is  this  that  leads  the  chase  ? "  a  voice 
was  asking.  "  Who  is  this  that  feels  the 
thunder  leap  beneath  him  like  a  living  thing  ? " 
**  It  is  I — John  Scattergood — it  is  I !  "  And 
ever  before  him  fled  the  secret ;  it  mocked  the 
chasing  squadrons,  and  the  wild  winds  aided 
its  flight. 

And   now  the    pursuer    perceived   himself 


276  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

pursued.  A  swarm  of  troubled  thoughts,  on 
winged  horses,  was  overtaking  him.  They 
swept  by  on  either  side ;  they  forged  ahead  ; 
they  pressed  close  and  jostled  him  on  his 
rocking  seat.  There  was  a  shock  ;  the  thunder 
collapsed  beneath  him,  and  he  fell  and  fell  into 
bottomless  gloom. 

Suddenly  his  fall  was  stayed.  A  hand 
caught  him  ;  a  presence  encircled  him,  some- 
thing touched  him  on  the  lips,  and  a  voice 
said,  "  At  last !     At  last !  " 

Professor  Scattergood  was  sitting  on  the 
stones,  his  body  bowed  forward,  his  hands 
feebly  clasped  round  the  head  of  his  motion- 
less horse ;  the  breath  of  life  was  leaving  him, 
and  his  heart  was  almost  still.  Then  the  dying 
flame  flickered  once  more.  He  opened  his 
eyes,  gazing  into  the  darkness  like  one  who 
sees  a  long-awaited  star.  His  fingers  tightened  ; 
he  seemed  to  draw  the  head  of  Ethelberta  a 
little  nearer  his  own  ;  and  it  was  as  if  they  two 
were  holding  some  colloquy  of  love. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  it  was  done,  and 


THE   PROFESSOR'S   MARE  277 

the  pallor  of  death  crept  over  the  wounded  face. 
The  clasped  hands,  with  the  blood-stained  hand- 
kerchief still  between  them,  slowly  relaxed  ; 
the  glance  withered ;  the  arms  fell ;  the  head 
drooped.  It  rested  for  a  moment  on  the  soft 
muzzle  of  the  beast ;  and  then,  with  a  quiet 
breath,  the  whole  body  rolled  backwards  and 
lay  face  upward  to  the  stars. 

Clouds  swept  over  the  sky,  the  winds  were 
hushed,  and  the  dense  darkness  of  a  winter's 
night  fell  like  a  pall  over  the  dead.  Not  a 
soul  came  nigh  the  spot,  and  for  hours  the 
silence  was  unbroken  by  the  footfall  of  any 
living  creature  or  by  the  stirring  of  a  withered 
leaf.  And  far  away  in  the  dead's  man's  home 
lay  an  oblivious  woman,  drenched  in  the  sleep 
of  opium. 

It  was  near  midnight  when  a  carrier's  cart, 
drawn  by  an  old  horse  and  lit  by  a  feeble 
lantern,  began  to  climb  the  silent  hill.  Weary 
with  the  labours  of  a  long  day,  the  carrier  sat 
dozing  among  the  village  merchandise.  Sud- 
denly he  woke  with   a  start :   his   cart   had 


278  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

stopped.  Leaning  forward,  he  peered  ahead  ; 
and  the  gleam  of  his  lantern  fell  on  the  stark 
figure  of  a  man  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 
A  larger  mass,  dimly  outlined,  lay  immedi- 
ately beyond.  Raising  his  light  a  little  higher, 
the  carrier  saw  that  the  further  object  was  the 
dead  body  of  a  horse. 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND 
HIS  WAYS 

Mn  Jeremy's  system  for  the  regulation  of 
human  life  was  summed  up  in  the  maxim, 
"  Put  your  back  into  it " ;  and  a  lifetime  of 
practising  what  he  preached  has  endowed  that 
part,  or  aspect,  of  his  person  with  an  astonish- 
ing vitality  and  developed  it  to  an  enormous 
size.  Not  without  reason  did  our  yeomanry 
sergeant  exhibit  his  stock  joke  by  informing 
Jeremy  on  parade  that  if  only  his  head  had 
been  set  the  other  way  he  would  have  had  the 
finest  chest  in  the  British  army. 

But  the  full  significance  of  Jeremy's  back 
was  not  to  be  perceived  by  one  who  looked 
upon  it  from  the  drill-sergeant's  point  of  view. 
It  was  not  only  the  broadest  but  the  most 

expressive  organ  of  the  farmer's  body,  and  a 

279 


280  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

poet's  eye  was  needed  to  interpret  the  mean- 
ing it  conveyed.  For  myself,  I  should  never 
have  suspected  that  it  meant  anything  more 
than  great  physical  strength  employed  in  a 
strenuous  life,  had  not  a  poetical  friend  of 
mine  taken  the  matter  up  and  enlightened 
me.  My  friend  and  I  were  crossing  a  field  by 
the  footpath,  and  Jeremy,  walking  rapidly  in 
the  same  direction,  was  a  few  yards  ahead. 

"  There  goes  a  man,"  I  whispered,  "  who  is 
worth  your  study.  You  could  write  a  poem 
about  him.  He's  one  of  the  few  remaining 
specimens  of  a  type  that  is  becoming  extinct. 
He  represents  agriculture  as  it  was  before  the 
advent  of  science  and  Radical  legislation.  He 
is  the  most  honest  and  prosperous  farmer  in 
the  county :  a  man,  moreover,  who  has  endured 
many  sorrows  and  conquered  them.  Let  us 
overtake  him,  for  I  should  like  you  to  see  him 
face  to  face." 

"  Not  so,"  said  my  friend.  "  The  man's 
history,  as  you  have  told  it,  and  much  more 
beside,  is  written  on  his  back.  Let  us 
remain,  therefore,  as  we   are,  and  study  him 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS     281 

where  such  men  can  best  be  studied,  from 
the  rear.  His  back,  I  perceive,  especially 
the  upper  portion  of  it,  is  the  principal  organ 
of  his  intelligence.  Observe,  he  is  thinking 
with  his  back  even  now  —  he  hitched  his 
trousers  up  a  moment  ago.  His  thoughts 
are  pleasant — you  can  see  it  in  the  rhythmi- 
cal movement  of  the  muscles  under  his  coat. 
He  has  some  great  design  on  hand  and  is  sure 
he  can  carry  it  through — see  how  his  shoulders, 
as  he  swings  along,  seem  to  be  tumbling  for- 
ward over  his  chest.  He  has  had  great  sorrows 
— the  droop  in  the  cervical  vertebrae  confirms 
it ;  he  has  conquered  them — hence  that  for- 
ward plunge  into  his  task.  He  understands 
his  business ;  of  course  ;  for  the  back  is  the 
organ  by  which  all  business  is  understood. 
He  is  honest ;  he  is  temperate ;  he  has  never 
broken  the  seventh  commandment.  You  can 
read  his  innocence  in  the  back  of  his  head — I 
wish  mine  were  like  his."  And  my  poetical 
friend  turned  round  and  showed  me  his  villain- 
ous cerebellum. 

Thus  enlightened,  I  began  a  closer  study  of 


282  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

the  farmer's  habits.  I  saw  a  new  significance 
in  an  odd  trick  he  had  of  suddenly  swinging 
round  on  his  heels  at  the  interesting  point  of 
a  conversation  and  delivering  his  remarks,  and 
sometimes  shaking  his  fist,  with  his  back  to 
the  interlocutor.  I  say  his  back,  but  function- 
ally considered  it  was  not  so;  since  at  those 
moments  the  functions  of  the  two  sides  of  his 
body  were  interchanged,  the  organ  of  expres- 
sion being  the  side  now  towards  you,  with 
every  smile  and  frown  accurately  registered  in 
the  creases  of  the  coat  as  they  followed  the 
movements  of  the  muscles  beneath.  So,  too, 
when  Jeremy  laughed.  No  doubt  his  face, 
while  laughing,  was  expressive  enough,  but 
you  couldn't  see  it,  because  it  was  turned  the 
other  way.  What  you  did  see  was  the  farmer's 
coat,  a  tergo^  twitching  up  and  down  as  though 
pulled  by  a  cord  and  then  suddenly  released 
like  a  Venetian  blind ;  and  this  was  quite 
enough  to  ensure  your  hearty  participation  in 
the  merriment. 

I  also  managed  to  take  several  interesting 
photographs   from   the    rear;    and    (may   the 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND   HIS   WAYS    283 

saints  forgive  him !)  a  young  gentleman  of 
my  acquaintance  once  attempted  to  snapshot 
the  hinder  parts  of  Jeremy  while  in  church. 
Unfortunately  the  light  was  bad,  and  the  nega- 
tive proved  a  failure.  Otherwise  my  poetical 
friend,  for  whom  I  intended  the  photograph, 
would  certainly  have  found  in  it  material  for  a 
new  poem.  Be  it  recorded  that  Jeremy  when 
engaged  in  devotion  did  not  kneel,  but  stretched 
his  body  forward  from  the  seat  to  the  book- 
rest,  presenting  his  back  to  the  heavens  and 
his  face  to  the  inner  regions  of  the  earth  ;  and, 
as  his  body  was  very  long  and  the  pew  very 
wide,  the  back  formed  a  solid  and  substantial 
bridge  over  which  you  might  have  trundled  a 
wheelbarrow  laden  with  turnips.  No  photo- 
graph, indeed,  save  one  of  the  cinematograph 
order,  the  apparatus  for  which  was  too  large 
to  lie  concealed  beneath  the  young  gentleman's 
waistcoat,  would  have  reproduced  the  creep- 
ings,  ripplings,  and  dimplings  of  the  farmer's 
coat.  These  gave  animation  to  the  picture  ; 
but  even  without  them,  the  mere  contour  of 
the  mass,  thrust  upwards  like  the  back  of  a 


284  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

diving  whale,  was  a  spectacle  of  vigour  and 
concentrated  purpose  of  which  my  poetical 
friend  would  not  have  lost  the  significance. 

Jeremy  was  the  oldest  of  the  Duke's 
tenantry,  and  the  land  he  farmed,  which  was 
of  high  quality  throughout,  had  been  held  by 
his  father,  his  grandfather,  his  great-grand- 
father, and  by  ancestors  of  yet  remoter  date. 
If  there  is  any  calling  in  which  heredity  is  of 
importance  to  success  it  is  surely  the  farmer's, 
and  Jeremy  was  fully  conscious  that  he  "  had 
it  in  the  blood,"  and  recognised  the  debt  he 
owed  to  his  fathers  before  him. 

People  are  wont  to  criticise  the  old-fashioned 
farmer  as  a  stiff  and  unadaptable  person  ;  but 
what  struck  me  about  Jeremy,  who  was  old- 
fashioned  enough,  was  the  adaptiveness  and 
flexibility  of  his  mind  in  dealing  with  the  ever- 
varying  conditions  the  farmer  has  to  face.  He 
had  an  extraordinary  instinct  for  doing  the  right 
thing  at  the  right  time,  and  handled  his  land  as 
though  it  were  a  living  thing,  with  a  kind  of 
unconscious  tact  which  seemed  to  me  the 
exact  opposite  to  that  blind  and  mechanical 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND   HIS   WAYS    285 

following  of  habit  which  so  often,  but  so 
mistakenly,  is  said  to  be  the  standing  fault  of 
his  class.  Obstinate  and  incredulous  as  he 
seemed  to  the  new  teachings  of  veterinary  or 
agricultural  science,  I  yet  noticed  that  Jeremy 
managed  to  absorb  enough  of  these  things  to 
produce  the  results  he  desired ;  and  though 
he  never  absorbed  as  much  of  them  as  the 
experts  required,  his  crops  were  always  larger 
and  his  stock  healthier  than  those  of  his 
neighbours  whose  farming  was  strictly  accord- 
ing to  the  modern  card. 

I  have  read  one  or  two  books  on  the  nature 
of  soils,  and  it  is  not  without  significance  to 
me  that  the  little,  the  very  little,  useful  know- 
ledge 1  have  of  these  things  was  derived  not 
from  the  books  but  from  Mr  Jeremy.  There 
was  a  bit  of  ground  in  my  garden  where  1 
could  make  nothing  grow,  and  I  hunted  in 
vain  through  all  the  gardening  books  I  could 
find  for  a  remedy,  and  even  went  the  length 
of  consulting  some  of  the  gifted  authors,  two 
of  whom  were  ladies.  I  sent  them  specimens 
of  the  soil  for  examination ;  they  teased  them 


286  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

with  formulse  and  tormented  them  with  acids  ; 
they  boiled  them  in  retorts  and  pickled  them 
in  glass  tubes ;  they  sent  me  the  names  of 
marauding  bacteria  whose  lodgings  they  had 
discovered  in  that  morsel  of  earth :  and  I, 
following  their  instructions,  dosed  the  land 
with  atrocious  chemicals,  until  the  earth- 
worms sickened  and  the  very  snails  forsook 
the  tainted  spot.     Still  nothing  would  grow. 

Then  came  Mr  Jeremy.  He  picked  up  a 
handful  of  the  soil ;  gazed  at  it  as  a  lapidary 
gazes  at  diamonds ;  smelt  it ;  felt  it  tenderly 
with  his  forefinger ;  spat  upon  it ;  rubbed  the 
mixture  on  his  breeches ;  inspected  the  result, 
first  on  his  breeches  and  then  on  his  hand — 
and  now  my  barren  patch  is  blossoming  like 
the  garden  of  the  Lord.  The  others  had 
advised  me  to  try  I  know  not  what — nitrates 
of  this  and  phosphates  of  that,  sulphates  of 
the  other  and  carbonates  of  something  else. 
Mr  Jeremy  said,  "  Chuck  a  cart-load  o'  fine 
sand  on  her  and  then  rip  her  up." 

Mr  Jeremy,  I  have  said,  was  aware  that  his 
roots  struck  deeply  into   the  past,  and   this 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    287 

consciousness,  I  believe,  helped  to  give  him 
that  confidence  in  himself  without  which  no 
man  can  successfully  till  the  earth  or  battle 
with  destiny — the  two  things,  1  believe,  being 
at  bottom  much  the  same. 

His  farmhouse,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  was 
built — and  built  of  almost  imperishable  stone 
— in  the  later  years  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II., 
and  had  never  been  structurally  modified  since 
its  erection.  Some  of  the  out-buildings  were 
of  yet  earlier  date.  Scattered  about  in  odd 
corners  were  not  a  few  interesting  relics  of  the 
past.  For  example,  there  was  a  case  of  coins, 
which  had  been  arranged  for  Jeremy  by  the 
late  Rector's  wife,  representing  every  reign 
from  Charles  I.  to  George  IV.,  every  one  of 
which  coins  had  been  dug  up  on  the  farm.  In 
the  big  courtyard  there  was  a  block  of  hard 
stone  scored  with  grooves  and  notches,  where 
the  troopers  in  some  forgotten  battle  were  said 
to  have  sharpened  their  swords  ;  on  the  outside 
wall  was  a  row  of  rings  and  stables  where  the 
same  troopers  had  tethered  their  horses.  In 
the  cellar  there  was  a  collection  of  large  shot, 


«88  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

which  there  was  reason  to  think  had  been  stored 
there  at  the  time  of  the  forgotten  battle  ;  and 
with  these  were  a  lot  of  iron  buckles,  and 
broken  tobacco-pipes  of  ancient  form,  which 
had  been  dug  up  in  a  mound  on  the  hillside 
through  which  Jeremy  was  cutting  a  drain. 
A  good  pint-measure  of  human  teeth,  in 
excellent  preservation,  had  been  discovered 
in  the  same  place,  and  these  were  kept  in  an 
old  tobacco-box.  Connected  with  all  this,  I 
suppose,  were  the  names  of  several  of  the 
fields  on  the  farm  :  one  of  which  was  called 
"The  Slaughters  ";  another,  "Horses'  Water  "; 
another,  "  The  Guns."  And  besides  these, 
which  reminded  one  of  "  old,  unhappy,  far-off 
things  and  battles  long  ago,"  there  were  two 
other  fields,  the  names  of  which  were  also 
interesting  to  me.  One,  a  beautiful  meadow 
with  a  southern  slope,  was  "  Abbot's  Vine- 
yard," and  the  big  pond  with  the  aspens  beside 
it  was  "  Benedict's  Pool."  Of  these  names 
the  explanation  was  utterly  lost ;  nor  could  I 
invent  a  theory,  for  the  nearest  religious  house 
of    pre- Reformation  times   was   many    miles 


FARMER   JEREMY  AND   HIS   WAYS    289 

away.  The  other  field  was  called  "  Quebec," 
and  the  coppice  at  its  upper  end  was 
'*Monckton  Wood." 

These  latter  names  I  am  able  to  explain. 
Several  of  Jeremy's  ancestors  had  been  to  the 
wars,  among  them  his  great-great-grandfather 
Silas  Jeremy,  who  had  fought  under  Wolfe  at 
the  capture  of  Quebec,  and  probably  under 
Monckton  in  some  earlier  campaign.  In  the 
house  there  were  several  mementoes  of  this 
man :  the  identical  George  II.  shilling  he  had 
received  on  enlisting  —  proving,  as  Jeremy 
would  often  say,  that  his  great-great-grand- 
father was  a  "  sober  "  man  ;  a  gold  watch  with 
a  beautifully  executed  design  of  the  death  of 
Wolfe  engraved  on  the  case,  said  to  have  been 
presented  to  Silas  on  his  return  from  the  wars 
by  the  reigning  Duke  ;  and,  above  all,  a  flint- 
lock musket,  with  bayonet  attached,  which 
Jeremy  asserted  his  ancestor  had  used  in  the 
battle,  but  which  I  judged  on  examination  to 
have  been  of  French  manufacture,  and  there- 
fore most  probably  a  relic  picked  up  from  the 

battle-field  —  perhaps    the    identical   musket 

19 


290  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

along  whose  barrel  some  French  grenadier 
had  taken  aim  at  the  noble  heart  of  Wolfe 
— who  knows  ? 

Another  memorial  of  this  ancestor — a  pretty 
obvious  one — I  can  myself  claim  to  have 
identified.  It  was  an  obstinate  rule  of  the 
farm  that  the  annual  "  harvest-home  "  should 
be  held  on  September  13 ;  and  even  if  the 
harvest  was  much  belated  and  only  a  portion 
then  gathered  in,  still  September  13  was  the 
date,  provided  only  that  it  did  not  fall  on  a 
Sunday.  September  13,  I  need  hardly  say, 
is  the  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  the  Heights 
of  Abraham.  The  coincidence  had  been 
entirely  forgotten  by  the  Jeremys,  and  was 
unrecorded  in  the  traditions  of  our  village ; 
but  not  many  days  after  I  had  pointed  it  out, 
the  gossips  having  been  at  work  in  the  mean- 
time, an  old  man  came  in  from  a  neighbouring 
parish  and  told  me  "  as  how "  his  father  had 
talked  with  a  man  who  knew  another  man 
who  had  been  present  at  the  Jeremys'  harvest- 
home  in  1760,  when  Silas  Jeremy,  who  had 
just  come  back  from  foreign  parts,  and  whose 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND   HIS   WAYS    291 

tomb  was  in  the  churchyard,  sang  a  song 
about  the  taking  of  Quebec,  which  the  old 
man's  father  used  to  sing — though  he  himself 
couldn't  remember  it — and  declared  that  for 
all  time  to  come  the  feast  should  be  held  on 
Quebec  Day,  and  on  no  other. 

This  little  circumstance,  I  may  say  in  passing, 
was  the  beginning  of  my  friendship  with  the 
Jeremy  who  forms  the  subject  of  the  present 
story.  My  discovery  of  the  coincidence  gave 
him  a  most  exaggerated  opinion  of  my  abilities 
and  worth.  To  quote  his  own  words,  it  proved 
me  to  be  "  a  gentleman  as  knows  what's  what " 
— a  characteristic  which,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
has  never  been  revealed  to  anybody  else. 
And  Jeremy's  good  opinion  of  me  was  yet 
further  enhanced  when  he  learnt  that  I  had 
twice  visited  the  Plains  of  Abraham ;  that  I 
knew  the  place  by  heart ;  that  I  had  climbed 
up  the  goat-path  by  which  his  ancestor  had 
scaled  the  heights,  and  had  laid  my  head  on 
the  spot  where  Wolfe  met  his  most  enviable 
death.  He  would  have  me  into  his  house 
that   very   night   to    tell    him    all    about   it ; 


292  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

showed  me  the  George  II.  shilling  and  the 
gold  watch ;  took  down  the  old  musket  and 
let  me  handle  it  and  put  it  to  my  shoulder 
and  even  pull  the  trigger ;  spent  two  hours 
in  rapt  attention  while  I  read  out  Parkman's 
account  of  the  battle ;  and  finally  summed 
up  the  whole  campaign  and  its  significance  in 
one  sweeping  comment,  "  By  Gum,  sir,  them 
fellers  put  their  backs  into  it,  and  that's  just 
what  they  did  !  " 

The  same  held  true,  I  should  think,  of 
Jeremy's  grandfather,  to  judge  by  another 
relic  carefully  treasured  in  the  house.  This 
was  an  enormous  iron  crowbar,  the  mere 
lifting  of  which  was  a  challenge  to  "  put  your 
back  into  it."  With  this  weapon  the  Jeremy 
of  that  day  had  successfully  defended  himself 
against  a  crowd  of  rascals  who  came  out  to 
burn  his  ricks  in  '32.  Some  memories  of  that 
fight  were  still  extant  in  the  village,  and  a 
bonny  fight  it  must  have  been.  My  informant, 
an  eyewitness  of  the  scene,  was  too  nearly 
imbecile  to  stand  cross-examination  ;  but  what 
he  remembered  was  to  the  point.     Aware  of 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS  WAYS     293 

the  impending  danger,  Jeremy  had  built  his 
ricks  that  year  within  the  defences  of  his 
courtyard,  the  walls  of  which  he  had  rendered 
unscalable  by  various  devices.  It  only  re- 
mained, therefore,  to  defend  the  gate ;  and 
here  were  posted  Timothy  Caine  with  a  maul, 
Job  Henderson  with  a  flail,  an  unnamed 
woman  with  a  cauldron  of  flour  to  fling  in 
the  face  of  the  enemy,  and  the  farmer  with 
the  crowbar.  These  won  the  day ;  and  more 
I  cannot  tell  you,  because  my  informant's 
language,  which  I  could  never  induce  him  to 
vary,  became  extremely  metaphorical  at  this 
point :  "  Master  Jeremy,  he  give  'em  pen  and 
ink  :  pen  and  ink  is  what  he  give  'em  with  the 
crowbar,  sir,  that  he  did ;  there  was  none  on 
'em  wanted  hitting  twice,  no,  not  one ;  and, 
my  eye!  to  see  the  flour  a-flying!  What  a 
steam  it  made !     I  can  see  it  now." 

Agricultural  experts  who  visited  our  parish, 
though  forced  to  admire  the  excellence  of 
Jeremy's  farming,  were  wont  to  criticise  him 
for  being  "too  slow."  Now  there,  I  think, 
they  were  distinctly  wrong.     I  have  nothing 


294  ALL  MEN   ARE  GHOSTS 

to  say  against  Agricultural  Science:  I  wish 
there  was  more  of  it ;  but  if  it  has  a  weakness 
it  lies  in  a  certain  tendency  to  be  "quick" 
precisely  at  those  points  where  Jeremy  was 
triumphantly  "  slow."  His  slowness  was 
simply  the  instinctive  timing  of  his  action 
to  the  movements  of  Nature,  who  is  also 
"slow"  in  relation  to  yet  higher  powers. 
You  would  often  think  that  he  was  dawd- 
ling ;  but  if  you  looked  into  the  matter  you 
were  sure  to  find  that  just  then  Nature  was 
dawdling  too,  and  that  Jeremy  was  beating 
her  at  a  waiting  game.  So,  too,  if  you  watched 
a  python  creeping  from  branch  to  branch  or 
lying  coiled  in  a  glass  case  you  would  judge  it 
to  be  the  slowest  of  beasts  ;  but  not  if  you  saw 
it  springing  on  its  prey.  There  was  much  of 
the  wisdom  of  the  serpent  in  Mr  Jeremy,  as 
there  must  be  in  every  man  who  earns  his 
living  by  battle  with  the  natural  order  of  the 
world.  "  I  wakes  regularly  at  five  o'clock," 
he  said.  "  But  I  never  gets  up  till  a  quarter 
past.  What  do  I  think  about  in  that  quarter 
of  an  hour  ?     Why,  I  spends  it  in  cutting  out.'' 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND   HIS   WAYS     295 

By  "cutting  out"  he  meant  the  process  of 
mentally  arranging  the  day's  work  for  himself 
and  for  every  man  on  the  farm.  The  python 
on  the  branch,  I  imagine,  is  often  engaged  in 
*'  cutting  out."  "  In  farming,"  he  added,  for 
he  was  giving  i^esson,  "  you  ought  to  cut  out 
fresh  every  day,  and  not  every  week,  as  some 
farmers  do  —  though  I've  knowed  them  as 
never  cut  out  at  all.  And  cutting  out's  a 
thing  you  can  never  learn  in  books  and  colleges. 
It  comes  by  experience — and  a  light  hand. 
Sometimes  you  must  cut  out  rough,  and 
sometimes  you  must  cut  out  fine — mostly 
according  to  the  weather  and  the  time  o'  year 
— and  always  leave  a  bit  somewhere  as  isn't  cut 
out  at  all.  And  when  you've  done  the  cutting 
out,  take  a  look  out  o'  the  window  and  tap 
your  glass.  Do  it  the  minute  you  jumps  out 
o'  bed.  And  if  there's  been  a  change  in  the 
wind  during  the  night,  cut  out  again  while 
you're  pulling  your  breeches  on  and  tear  up 
what  you've  cut  out  already.  And  don't  give 
no  orders  to  anybody  till  you've  had  your 
breakfast — leastways  a  cup  o'  tea ;  it  clears  a 


296  AIX  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

man's  head  and  lets  you  see  if  youVe  been 
making  any  mistakes.  I've  often  cut  out  six 
or  seven  times  between  waking  and  giving  the 
day's  orders  —  what  with  the  tricks  of  the 
weather  and  my  head  not  being  as  clear  as  it 
ought  to  have  been."  And  I  wondered  how 
often  Napoleon  had  done  the  same  thing. 

Indeed,  if  I  may  venture  on  a  quite  innocent 
paradox,  there  is  a  kind  of  slowness  which 
takes  the  form  of  rapidity  in  reducing  one's 
pace.  Such  slowness  is  nothing  but  inverted 
speed,  and  is  highly  effective  in  farming,  in 
war,  and  in  many  other  things.  And  of  Mr 
Jeremy  we  may  say  that  whereas,  on  the  one 
hand,  he  was  extremely  slow  in  the  acquisition 
of  new  knowledge,  on  the  other  he  was  equally 
quick  to  check  himself  in  the  application  of 
such  knowledge  as  he  possessed  already.  This 
gave  him,  in  the  eyes  of  superficial  observers, 
the  appearance  of  being  "  slow."  At  the  same 
time  it  enabled  him  to  make  a  better  thing 
out  of  farming  than  any  of  his  neighbours, 
some  of  whom  had  been  trained  in  Agricultural 
Colleges. 


FARMER   JEREMY   AND   HIS  WAYS    297 

I  have  to  confess  that  my  acquaintance  with 
Mr  Jeremy  has  not  been  without  a  certain 
demorahsing  effect.  It  has  corrupted  the 
brightness  of  many  comfortable  truths  which 
excellent  preceptors  taught  me  in  my  youth. 
1  will  not  say  that  my  hold  on  these  truths 
has  altogether  vanished;  but,  thanks  to  Mr 
Jeremy's  influence,  I  have  learned  to  see  them 
in  so  many  new  hghts,  and  with  so  many 
qualifications,  that  for  purposes  of  platform 
oratory  on  all  questions  connected  with  the 
land  and  its  uses  T  have  entirely  lost  the  very 
little  effectiveness  I  once  had.  There  was  a 
time  when  if  anyone  mentioned  the  land  I 
always  wanted  to  make  a  speech.  Now  I 
feel — what  no  doubt  I  ought  to  have  felt  then 
— that  I  must  hold  my  tongue.  To  be  quite 
frank,  my  views  on  the  land  have  become 
confused,  hesitating,  and  politically  ineffective. 
That  a  farmer  owning  his  own  land  was  cceteris 
paribus  necessarily  better  off  than  a  tenant 
once  seemed  to  me  a  truth  so  plain  as  not  to 
be  worth  discussion.  But  if  I  had  to  speak 
on  that  point   now,    I    should   hesitate    and 


298  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

hedge  about  to  a  degree  which  would  force 
any  intelligent  audience  to  regard  me  as  a 
fool.  Instead  of  speaking  out  loud  and  strong 
for  peasant  proprietorship,  I  should  be  thinking 
all  the  time  of  the  three  peasant  proprietors 
in  our  neighbourhood — George  Corey,  Charles 
Narroway,  and  Billy  Hoare,  who  are  the 
meanest,  the  stingiest,  the  most  underhand 
and  generally  despicable  rascals  I  have  ever 
met.  Were  a  resolution  placed  before  the 
meeting  in  favour  of  bringing  the  townspeople 
back  on  to  the  land,  I  should  say  in  support 
that  while  it  is  infinitely  sad  to  see  the  real 
peasantry  drifting  into  the  towns,  it  is  yet 
worse  to  see  people  like  Prendergast,  the  ex- 
draper,  drifting  out  of  the  towns  and  setting 
up  as  country  gentlemen.  I  should  want 
to  tell  the  audience  all  about  Prendergast 
and  the  hideous  human  packing-case  he  has 
built  on  the  opposite  hillside  ;  how  he  swindled 
the  village  shopkeeper  out  of  twenty  pounds  ; 
how  he  sweats  his  labourers  just  as  he  sweated 
the  poor  girls  who  used  to  serve  behind  his 
counter;  how  he  told  me  to  go  to  the  devil 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    299 

when  I  begged  him  not  to  build  his  abominable 
house  where  it  would  spoil  the  view :  and  then 
1  should  want  to  add  a  few  details  about  his 
personal  habits  which  I  am  afraid  would  cause 
the  ladies  to  walk  out  of  the  room.  And  I 
should  wind  up  by  saying,  amid  the  derisive 
laughter  of  the  audience,  that  one  reason,  at 
all  events,  why  the  real  peasants  go  into  the 
towns  is  to  escape  from  slavery  to  these 
pinchbeck  fellows  who  come  out  of  the  towns. 
I  should  want  to  quote — but  I  am  afraid  my 
courage  would  have  already  broken  down— 
what  Jeremy  once  said  to  me : — "  The  Dook — 
when  did  you  ever  hear  of  any  man  going  into 
the  town  as  worked  on  his  estate  ?  But  as  for 
this  'ere  Prendergast,  I  wonder  the  very  pigs 
stop  in  his  stye." 

Undoubtedly  it  was  due  to  Jeremy's  in- 
fluence that  I  came  to  appreciate  this  side  of 
the  matter.  He  also  taught  me  to  regard  the 
tenant  farmer  as  superior  to  all  other  varieties 
of  his  class.  I  know  it  is  wrong-headed, 
generalising  from  a  particular  case  and  all 
that — but  I   would   rather  be   wrong-headed 


300  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

with  Jeremy,  who  took  a  back-view  of  every- 
thing, than  right-headed  with  some  forward 
spirits  who  treat  the  land  as  a  corpus  vile  for 
political  experiments.  And  what  logical  mind 
could  resist  arguments  like  the  following, 
back-views  though  they  be? 

**  It  takes  two,  sir,"  said  Jeremy,  *'  for  to 
handle  the  land.  A  nobleman  to  own  it,  and 
a  farmer  to  cultivate  it.  There's  nothing  that 
gives  you  confidence  like  having  a  real  gentle- 
man behind  you  —  and  the  Dook's  a  real 
gentleman  if  ever  there  was  one.  And  you 
want  confidence  in  farming — and  that's  what 
these  'ere  Radicals  don't  see.  I  don't  want 
none  o'  their  safeguards  !  Give  me  the  Dook 
— he's  safeguard  enough  for  me  I  And  what 
safeguard  have  you  when  fellers  like  Prender- 
gast  begin  buying  up  the  land  ?  Look  at  his 
tenants — not  a  real  farmer  among  'em,  no,  and 
not  one  as  can  make  both  ends  meet.  These 
little  landlords  are  the  men  they  ought  to 
shoot  at,  not  the  big  'uns.  Now  isn't  it  a 
wonderful  thing  that  my  family  and  the 
Dook's  has  kept  step  with  one  another  for  a 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND   HIS  WAYS    301 

matter  of  two  hundred  years  ?  Eight  Dooks 
in  that  time  and  eight  Jeremys — one  Jeremy 
to  each  Dook !  But  who'll  ever  keep  step 
with  Prendergast  ?  Who'll  ever  want  to  ? 
Why,  I  wouldn't  be  seen  walking  down  the 
street  with  him,  no,  not  if  you  was  to  give  me 
a  thousand  pounds.  And  if  he  was  to  offer 
me  his  best  farm  rent-free  to-morrow,  I'd  tell 
him  to  go  and  boil  hisself. 

"No,  sir,"  he  continued,  "it  don't  pay  to 
own  the  land  you  farm  ;  and  don't  you  believe 
them  as  tells  you  it  does.  Leastways,  it  pays 
a  sight  better  to  farm  under  a  good  landlord. 
Them  as  can't  make  farming  pay  under  a 
landlord,  can't  make  it  pay  at  all.  Now  look 
at  me  and  then  look  at  Charley  Shott.  Me 
and  Charley  started  the  same  year,  him  with 
400  acres  of  his  own,  and  me  with  380  acres 
under  the  Dook,  rented  all  round  at  twenty- 
eight  shillings  an  acre.  And  where  are  we  both 
now  after  thirty  years  ?  Why,  if  Charley's 
land,  and  all  he's  made  on  it,  and  all  he's  put 
into  it,  were  set  at  auction  to-morrow,  I  could 
buy   him   up   twice  over  I     And   me  paying 


302  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

over  five  hundred  pounds  a  year  rent  for  thirty 
years,  and  him  not  paying  a  penny.  How 
does  that  come  about?  Well,  you're  not  a 
farmer,  and  you  wouldn't  understand  if  I  told 
you.  But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing  as  perhaps 
you  can  understand.  It  hurts  the  land  to 
break  it  up.  And  it  hurts  the  land  still  more 
to  sell  it.  Now  I  dare  say  you  never  heard  of 
that  before." 

I  confessed  that  I  had  not. 

"  Well,  it's  a  fact.  When  you  break  land 
up  it  won't  keep.  It  goes  like  rotten  apples  : 
first  a  bit  goes  rotten  here  and  then  a  bit 
there ;  and  the  rottenness  spreads  and  runs 
together.  And  as  to  selling,  I  tell  you  there's 
something  in  the  land  as  knows  when  you  re 
goin  to  sell  it,  and  loses  heart.  I've  seen  the 
same  thing  in  'osses.  It  takes  the  land  longer 
to  get  used  to  a  new  master  than  it  does  a 
'oss  ;  and  there's  some  land  as  never  will. 

*'  No,  sir,  I  say  again,  if  you  want  to  make 
farming  pay,  take  a  farm  on  a  big  estate,  one 
that's  never  been  broke  up  and's  never  likely 
to  be,  one  that's  been  in  the  same  hands  for 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    303 

hundreds  o'  years,  one  that's  never  been  shaken 
up  and  messed  with  and  slopped  all  over  with 
lawyer's  ink,  and  made  sour  with  lawyer's  lies. 
Never  mind  if  the  rent's  a  bit  stiffish.  Rent 
never  bothered  me." 

I  ventured  to  dissent  from  these  opinions, 
for  I  had  given  lectures  on  Political  Economy, 
and  I  knew  of  at  least  four  different  theories 
of  Rent  all  at  variance  with  Jeremy's — and 
with  one  another.  Perhaps  I  should  have 
succeeded  better  had  I  known  of  only  one. 
But,  knowing  of  four,  1  may  have  become  a 
little  confused  in  my  attempts  to  confute 
Farmer  Jeremy.  Not  that  this  made  very 
much  difference.  On  all  questions  relating  to 
the  nature  of  land  and  its  uses  Jeremy  was  a 
mystic,  and  orthodox  Political  Economy  was 
as  futile  to  his  mind  as  it  was  to  Mr  Ru  skin's. 
Every  position  I  took  up  was  immediately 
stormed  by  the  rejoinder,  "  Ah,  well,  you're 
not  a  farmer,  and  you  don't  understand."  I 
could  not  help  remembering  that  1  had  often 
been  overthrown  in  more  abstruse  arguments 
by  the  same  sort  of  answer.     I  might,  indeed. 


304  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

have  countered  by  saying,  "Ah,  well,  Mr 
Jeremy,  you're  not  an  economist,  and  you 
don't  understand."  But  it  occurred  to  me  that 
the  reply  would  be  feeble. 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  "  that  good  land 
Ukes  to  be  high-rented.  It  sort  o'  keeps  it  in 
humour.  Land  likes  to  be  owned  by  a  gentle- 
man, and  keeps  its  heart  up  accordin'.  When- 
ever the  rent  o'  land  goes  down,  the  quality 
goes  down  too.  I've  noticed  it  again  and 
again." 

I  tried  to  indicate  that  this  last  statement 
was  an  inversion  of  cause  and  effect,  but  the 
argument  made  not  the  faintest  impression  on 
Mr  Jeremy,  who  merely  brushed  away  a  fly 
that  had  settled  on  his  nose,  and  continued : 

"  I  never  spoke  to  the  Dook  but  once.  I 
met  him  one  morning  riding  to  hounds  with 
Lady  Sybil  and  Lady  Agatha.  As  soon  as  he 
sees  me  he  trots  his  horse  up  to  where  I  was 
standing  and  holds  out  his  hand.  'Jeremy,' 
says  he,  '  I  want  to  shake  hands  with  you. 
You're  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  British 
farmer.'     '  Thank   you,  your   Grace,'  I    says ; 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS  WAYS    305 

'  and  you're  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  British 
Dook,'  for  I  was  never  afraid  of  speaking  my 
mind  to  anyone.  At  that  his  Grace  bursts 
out  laughin',  and  so  did  Lady  Sybil  and  Lady 
Agatha  too.  '  Let  me  introduce  you  to  my 
two  daughters,'  says  he.  So  he  introduces  me, 
and  I  can  tell  you  I  stood  up  to  'em  like  a 
man,  though  I  did  keep  my  hat  in  my  hand 
all  the  time.  *  Well,  Jeremy,'  says  he, '  you've 
got  your  farm  in  tip-top  condition ' ;  and  then 
he  begins  talking  about  putting  up  some  new 
buildings,  as  me  and  the  agent  had  been  talk- 
ing over  before.  '  We'll  put  'em  up  next 
spring,'  says  his  Grace;  'and  remember, 
Jeremy,  that  in  all  that  concerns  the  develop- 
ment of  this  farm  you  have  me  behind  you.' 
'  I've  never  forgotten  it,  your  Grace,'  I  says, 
'  and  I  never  shall.  And  I'm  not  the  only 
one  who  remembers  it.  The  land  remembers 
it  too,  your  Grace,'  I  says.  '  I  hope  it  does, 
Jeremy,'  says  he,  '  for  I  love  it.'  And  I  never 
see  a  young  lady  look  prettier  than  Lady 
Agatha  did  when  she   heard   her  father  say 

them  words." 

20 


306  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

I  had  heard  this  story  so  often  from  Farmer 
Jeremy,  and  always  with  the  same  reference 
to  Lady  Agatha  at  the  end,  that  I  was  famihar 
with  every  word  of  it.  He  was  growing  old, 
and  I  believe  that  in  the  course  of  the  year  he 
managed  to  tell  the  story  a  hundred  times  over. 
"  I  was  coming  home  from  market  last  Satur- 
day," said  he,  "  and  a  lot  of  other  farmers  was 
in  the  same  compartment  with  me.  We  begins 
talkin'  about  the  Dook,  and  I  happened  to  tell 
'em  about  that  time  when  I  met  his  Grace  with 
Lady  Sybil  and  Lady  Agatha.  There  was  a 
chap  sitting  in  one  corner  as  didn't  belong  to 
our  lot,  and  as  soon  as  he  hears  the  Dook's 
name  mentioned  he  drops  his  paper  and  begins 
listening.  Well,  I  never  see  such  a  rage  any- 
where as  that  man  got  into  when  1  told  'em 
how  I  kept  my  hat  in  my  hand  while  talking 
to  the  ladies.  Regular  insultin'  is  what  he 
was ;  and  I  can  tell  you  I  never  came  nearer 
giving  a  man  one  in  the  eye  than  I  did  him. 
I  believe  I'd  ha'  done  it  if  there'd  been  room 
in  the  carriage  for  him  to  put  up  his  hands  and 
make  a  square  fight  on  it.     I  don't  say  as  he 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND   HIS   WAYS    307 

weren't  a  plucky  chap  too  ;  for  there  wasn't  a 
man  in  the  carriage  as  couldn't  ha'  knocked  his 
head  off  with  the  flat  of  his  hand,  if  he'd  had  a 
mind  to.  '  Look  here,  you  fellows,'  he  says, 
*  you're  a  lot  of  blasted  idiots,  that's  what  you 
are.  It's  because  of  the  besotted  ignorance  of 
men  like  you  that  England  has  the  worst  land- 
system  in  the  world.  Slaverin'  and  grovellin' 
before  a  lot  o'  rotten  Dooks — why,  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves !  I'll  bet  that 
Dook  o'  yours  and  his  two  painted  gals  was 
mounted  on  fine  horses  and  dressed  up  to  the 
nines.'  '  Of  course  they  was,'  I  says,  '  and  so 
they  ought  to  be.'  *  Well,'  says  he,  '  who  paid 
for  the  horses  and  the  clothes — and  the  paint  ? ' 
'  Here,'  I  says,  jumping  up  from  my  seat,  'you 
drop  the  paint,  or  I'll  pitch  you  out  o'  that 
winder.'  '  Well,  then,'  says  he,  '  who  paid  for 
the  horses  and  the  clothes  ? '  'I  neither  know 
nor  care,'  says  I ;  '  so  long  as  they  was  paid  for, 
it's  no  business  of  mine  or  yourn  who  paid  for 
'em.'  '  You  paid  for  'em,  you  fool,'  says  he. 
'  Oh,  indeed,'  says  I.  *  And  now,  young  man, 
perhaps  you'll  allow  me  to  give  you  a  word  of 


808  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

advice.'  '  Fire  away,'  says  he.  *  Well,'  I  says, 
'  the  next  time  your  missus  has  a  washin'  day, 
you  just  wait  till  she's  made  the  copper  'ot,  and 
then  jump  into  it  and  boil  yourself ! ' " 

The  "  chap  "  in  the  railway  carriage  was  by 
no  means  the  only  person  to  whom  Mr  Jeremy 
addressed  this  drastic  advice.     It  was  his  usual 
mode  of  clinching  an  argument  when  his  in- 
stincts supported  a  conclusion  to  which   his 
intelligence  could   not  find  the  way.      This 
method  of  arriving  at  truth  was  especially  use- 
ful in  regard  to  politics  and  theology,  in  both 
of  which  Mr  Jeremy  took  a   lively,  or  even 
violent,  interest.     Needless  to  say,  his  political 
aversions  were  of  the  strongest,  and  Mr  Lloyd 
George  was  the  statesman  who  had  to  bear  the 
hottest  flame  of  Jeremy's  wrath.     More  than 
once  I  have  seen  him  fling  his  weekly  paper 
on  the  floor  with  the  words,  "  I  wish  this  'ere 
Lloyd  George  would  jump  into  the  copper  and 
boil  hisself " ;   and  on  my  remarking   that  I 
thought  this  a  rather  inhuman  suggestion,  he 
would   wave   his  arm  round  the  room,  in  a 
manner  to  indicate  the  entire  Liberal  Party, 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    309 

and  say,  "  I  wish  the  whole  lot  on  'em  would 
jump  into  coppers  and  boil  themselves."  As 
to  theology,  I  seldom  dared  to  address  a  hint 
of  my  heresies  to  Mr  Jeremy.  But  on  my 
once  saying  to  another  person,  in  his  presence, 
something  to  the  effect  that  1  did  not  believe 
in  eternal  damnation,  he  quickly  crossed  over 
to  where  I  was  sitting,  and,  giving  me  a  rather 
ugly  dig  with  his  powerful  forefinger,  said, 
"  Look  here  !  You  just  jump  into  the  copper 
and  boil  yourself."  A  wise  stupidity  was  the 
keynote  of  Mr  Jeremy's  life. 

Another  expression  reserved  for  occasions 
when  great  emphasis  was  needed,  was  "  a 
finished  specimen."  A  thing,  in  Mr  Jeremy's 
eyes,  deserved  this  title  when  its  general  con- 
dition was  so  bad  that  nothing  worse  of  its 
kind  could  be  conceived,  and  the  expression 
accordingly  was  only  used  after  the  ordinary 
resources  of  descriptive  language  had  given 
out.  It  was  applied  to  persons  as  well  as 
to  things.  Mr  Lloyd  George  was,  naturally, 
*'  a  finished  specimen  "  :  so  was  the  German 
Emperor :  so  was  Dr  Crippen  :  so  was  a  lady 


310  ALL   MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

of  uncertain  reputation  who  "  had  taken 
a  cottage "  in  the  neighbourhood.  A  wet 
harvest,  a  badly  built  hayrick,  a  measly  pig,  a 
feeble  sermon  by  the  curate,  were  all  "  finished 
specimens."  Once  when  the  curate,  getting 
gravelled  for  lack  of  matter  at  the  end  of  five 
minutes — for  he  was  preaching  ex  tempore — 
abruptly  concluded  his  sermon  by  promising 
to  complete  the  subject  next  week,  I  heard 
Jeremy  whisper  to  his  wife,  "  Well,  he's  a 
finished  specimen,  that  he  is."  Nothing  irri- 
tated the  good  man  so  much  as  an  unfinished 
job,  and  the  fact  that  a  thing  was  unfinished 
was  precisely  what  he  meant  to  express  when 
he  called  it  *'  a  finished  specimen."  A  great 
deal  of  human  language,  especially  philoso- 
phical language,  seems  to  be  constructed  on 
the  same  principle. 

Mr  Jeremy  was  a  regular  church-goer.  The 
Church  in  his  eyes  was  part  of  the  established 
order  of  Nature,  on  due  observance  of  which 
the  farmer's  welfare  depends,  and  merely 
extended  into  the  next  world  those  desirable 
results  which  sound  instincts,  punctuality,  and 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    311 

"  putting  your  back  into  it  "  produced  in  this. 
On  week-days  Mr  Jeremy  farmed  the  broad 
acres  of  the  "  Dook  "  ;  on  Sundays  he  farmed 
Palestine,  and  occasionally  drove  a  straight 
furrow  clean  across  the  back  of  the  Universe. 
To  both  operations  he  applied  the  same 
methods,  the  same  instincts,  the  same  ideas. 
I  confess  that  I  have  often  smiled  with  the 
air  of  a  superior  person  when  listening  to  a 
highly  trained  Cathedral  choir  proclaiming  to 
the  strains  of  great  music  that  "Moab  was 
their  washpot " ;  but  when  Mr  Jeremy  re- 
peated the  words  in  the  village  church  I  felt 
that  he  spoke  the  truth,  and  I  went  away 
with  a  clearer  conception  of  Moab  than  I  have 
ever  gained  from  the  works  of  Kuenen  or 
Cheyne.  "  Moab,"  I  reflected,  "  can  be  no 
other  than  the  little  field  on  the  hillside,  where 
Jeremy  washes  his  sheep  in  the  pool  behind 
the  willows."  Again,  I  was  morally  certain 
that  if  Jeremy  had  lived  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Edom  he  would  have  "  cast  out  his 
shoe "  upon  that  country,  accurately  aiming 
the  missile  at  the  head  of  any  rascally  Edomite 


812  ALL  MEN   ARE  GHOSTS 

who  happened   to  be  prowling  about  with  a 
rabbit-snare    in    his    pocket.     So    too    when 
he  shouted  "Manasseh  is  mine" — he  always 
shouted  the  Psalms — I  was  sure  that  Manasseh 
really   was   his,   in   a    tenant-farmer  way    of 
speaking,  and  that  next   Thursday  he  would 
begin  to  rip  up  Manasseh  with  his  great  steam 
plough,  and  reap  in  due  course  a  crop  of  forty 
bushels   to   the   acre,   paying  the  "  Dook "  a 
high  rent  for  the  privilege.     Nor  was  Jeremy 
making  any  idle  boast  when  he  thundered  out 
his  further  intentions,  which  were  "  to  divide 
Sichem,"  "  to  mete  out  the  valley  of  Succoth," 
and  "  to  triumph  "  over  Philistia.     All  this  was 
Pragmatism  of  the  purest   water ;   you  were 
sure  he  would  keep  his  promise  to  the  letter ; 
you  were  glad  for  Sichem  and  Succoth,  which 
were  to  be  "  divided  "  and  "  meted  out,"  though 
perhaps  a  little  sorry  for  the  Philistines,  who 
were  to  be  "  triumphed  over,"  that  a  man  like 
Jeremy  should  have  undertaken  the  business  ; 
but  you  recognised  that  no  better  man  for  the 
job   could   be   found  anywhere  than  he.     To 
be  sure,  Mr  Jeremy,  although  he  would  have 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND  HIS   WAYS     313 

gladly  boiled  the  whole  Liberal  Party  in 
coppers,  was  much  too  tender-hearted  to  wish 
that  anybody's  little  ones  should  be  dashed 
against  the  stones ;  but  I  believe  that  in  his 
innermost  thought  he  launched  the  words 
against  "them  tarnation  sparrers"  and  "that 
plague  o'  rats."  On  the  whole,  no  one  who 
listened  to  Mr  Jeremy's  repetition  of  these 
Psalms  could  doubt  their  entire  appropriate- 
ness as  a  religious  exercise  for  men  such  as  he, 
or  refrain  from  hoping  that  they  would  never 
be  expunged  from  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer  until  the  last  British  farmer  had  gone 
to  church  for  the  last  time. 

So  too  with  the  Creeds.  I  believed  every 
one  of  them  as  recited  by  Mr  Jeremy,  and  I 
found  the  Athanasian  the  most  convincing  of 
them  all.  The  Sundays  set  down  for  the  use 
of  that  Creed — and  its  use  was  never  omitted 
in  our  parish — were  the  most  serious  Sundays 
of  the  year  to  Mr  Jeremy,  and  the  vigour  of 
his  voice  and  his  attitude,  and  the  fervour 
of  his  participation,  made  a  spectacle  to  be 
remembered.     I  wish   William  James  might 


314  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

have  seen  it  before  he  wrote  his  Varieties  of 
Religious  Experience',  it  would  have  given 
him  a  new  chapter.  At  the  very  first  words 
Jeremy  joined  in  hke  a  trained  sprinter  start- 
ing for  a  race ;  and  though  the  clergyman 
rattled  through  the  clauses  as  fast  as  he  could 
pronounce,  or  mispronounce,  the  syllables, 
the  farmer  headed  him  by  a  word  or  two 
from  the  very  first,  gradually  increasing 
his  lead  as  the  race  proceeded  until  towards 
the  end  he  was  a  full  sentence  to  the  good. 
It  was  evident  that  to  Jeremy's  mind,  and 
perhaps  to  the  clergyman's  also,  a  subtle 
relation  existed  between  the  truth  of  the 
Creed  and  the  speed  with  which  it  could  be 
rendered.  Long  before  the  end  was  in  sight, 
and  while  Jeremy  was  still  battling  with 
various  "  incomprehensibles,"  the  rest  of  the 
competitors  had  retired  from  sheer  exhaustion  ; 
the  children  were  munching  sweets ;  the  lads 
and  lasses  were  ogling  one  another  at  the  back 
of  the  church ;  Mrs  Jeremy  was  staring  in 
front  of  her,  wondering  perhaps  if  the  careless 
Susan  would  remember  that  onion  sauce  always 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    315 

went  with  a  leg  of  mutton  on  Sundays ;  while 
Lady  Agatha  and  Lady  Sybil — I  grieve  to 
record  this,  but  my  historical  conscience  com- 
pels me — sat  down.  As  to  those  of  us  who 
remained  attentive  to  what  was  going  on,  our 
confidence  in  Catholic  Truth  gradually  took 
the  form  of  a  certainty  that  the  farmer  would 
come  in  first  and  the  clergyman  be  nowhere. 
So  it  always  proved.  Standing  in  the  pew 
behind  that  of  Jeremy,  I  could  see  the  muscles 
of  his  mighty  back  working  up  and  down 
beneath  the  broadcloth  of  his  Sunday  coat ; 
and  as  I  looked  from  him  to  the  easily  winded 
gentleman  from  Pusey  House  who  was  run- 
ning against  him  in  the  chancel,  I  could  not 
help  reflecting  how  ridiculous,  nay,  how  un- 
sportsmanlike, it  was  to  allow  two  men  so 
ill  matched  to  compete  for  the  same  event. 
This,  no  doubt,  was  the  first  symptom  that, 
in  spite  of  the  standing  attitude,  I  was  going 
to  sleep.  But  before  it  could  happen  I  was 
suddenly  brought  to  my  senses  by  the  fortis- 
simo e  prestissimo  of  Jeremy's  conclusion.  "  He 
cannot  be  saved,"  he  roared  out,  banging  his 


816  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

prayer-book  down  on  the  book-rest,  with  a 
defiant  look  around  him,  as  though  the  whole 
Liberal  Party  were  in  church.  "  He  cannot  be 
saved," — and  visions  of  all  sorts  of  people 
boiling  in  coppers  filled  the  mental  eye. 

Jeremy,  for  a  farmer,  was  the  most  out- 
rageous optimist  I  have  ever  met.  He  never 
grumbled,  save  at  politicians,  and  the  worst 
weather  could  hardly  disconcert  him.  "  You 
can  always  turn  a  bit  o'  bad  weather  to  good 
account — if  you  put  your  back  into  it.  Yes, 
it's  been  a  wet  season,  no  doubt,  but  not  what 
I  should  call  a  bad  season.  It's  true  we've 
made  but  little  hay,  and  that  not  good ;  but 
the  meadows  isn't  dried  up  as  they  was  last 
year,  and  there'll  be  feed  for  the  stock  in  the 
open  most  of  the  winter.  I  bought  fifty  new 
head  o'  stock  last  Wednesday  —  bought  'em 
cheap  of  a  man  as  got  frightened — and  they'll 
be  well  fattened  by  Christmas."  Serious  set- 
backs, of  course,  often  occurred ;  but  Jeremy, 
unlike  most  of  his  kind,  was  not  the  man  to 
talk  about  them.  "  What  I  believe  in,"  he 
said,  **  is  not  only  keeping  your  own  heart  up. 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    317 

but  helping  your  neighbours  to  keep  up  theirs. 
I've  no  patience  with  all  this  'ere  grumbling 
and  growling.  Of  course,  a  person  has  a  lot 
to  put  up  with  in  farming  ;  but  it  doesn't  do 
a  person  no  good  to  be  always  thinking  about 
that.  Pleasant  thoughts  goes  a  long  way  in 
making  money.  And  I  tell  you  there's  money 
to  be  made  in  farming,  let  folks  say  what  they 
will.  What  farmers  want  is  not  for  Parliament 
to  help  'em,  but  for  Parliament  to  leave  'em 
alone.  That's  why  I  can't  stand  this  'ere 
Liberal  Government.  Why  can't  they  stop 
messing  wi'  things  — messing  wi'  the  land, 
messing  wi'  the  landlords,  messing  wi'  the 
tenants,  messing  wi'  the  farm-labourers  ?  Why 
can't  they  leave  it  all  alone  and  stick  to  what 
they  understand,  if  there's  anything  they  do 
understand,  which  I  doubt  ?  No,  sir  ;  I  don't 
want  their  laws,  good  or  bad.  Give  me  the 
custom  of  the  county,  and  a  good  bench  o' 
magistrates,  and  a  cheerful  disposition,  and  a 
farmyard  full  o'  muck,  and  I've  got  all  1  want 
to  make  farming  pay — always  provided  you 
put  your  back  into  it." 


318  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

But  during  the  long-continued  rain  of  last 
summer  I  could  not  help  observing  that 
Jeremy,  in  spite  of  his  fidelity  to  these 
principles,  was  making  an  effort  to  keep  up 
his  heart.  Not  only  was  his  hay  ruined,  but 
the  finest  crop  of  wheat  he  had  ever  raised 
was  sprouting  in  the  ear.  There  was  sickness 
among  the  sheep  and  the  pigs  ;  and  the  stand- 
ing crop  in  his  great  orchard  was  sold  to  a 
middleman  for  a  quarter  the  usual  price.  But 
Jeremy  made  no  complaint.  Only,  meeting 
the  clergyman  one  day  in  the  road,  he  said, 
"  Parson,  it's  high  time  you  put  up  the  prayer 
for  fine  weather."  Jeremy  had  a  firm  belief  in 
the  power  of  prayer — and  especially  of  this  one. 

On  the  first  occasion  when  this  prayer  was 
used  in  the  village  church  1  was  present  in 
my  usual  place  behind  Jeremy.  As  the  prayer 
proceeded  it  was  evident  that  the  farmer  was 
putting  his  back  into  it.  I  could  see  the 
movement  of  the  deltoid  muscles,  and  I 
watched  a  great  crease  form  itself  in  the  lower 
portion  of  his  coat  and  gradually  creep  up- 
wards until  it  formed  a  straight  line  from  one 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    319 

shoulder-blade  to  the  other.  When  the  prayer 
concluded  Jeremy  said  "  Amen  and  Amen  ! " 
with  the  utmost  fervour  ;  and  the  crease  in 
his  coat  slowly  disappeared.  I  am  afraid  I  was 
more  occupied  in  watching  this  crease  than 
in  recalling  the  lesson  that  was  taught  to  us 
sinners  when  it  pleased  Jehovah  to  "drown 
all  the  world,  except  eight  persons." 

During  the  next  ten  days  the  rain  fell  with 
increasing  volume  and  fury :  the  ditches  were 
in  flood ;  the  roads  were  watercourses,  and 
much  damage  was  done  on  Jeremy's  farm. 
Meeting  him  at  this  time,  I  said  in  the  course  of 
conversation,  perhaps  foolishly,  "  Mr  Jeremy, 
the  prayer  for  fine  weather  seems  to  have  done 
us  very  little  good."  For  a  moment  he  looked 
at  me  rather  angrily,  as  though  suspecting  that 
some  lukewarmness  on  my  part  had  deprived 
the  prayer  of  its  due  effect.  Then  he  checked 
himself  and  seemed  to  reflect.  "  No,"  he  said 
at  length,  "  it's  done  us  no  good  at  all.  But 
what  else  can  you  expect,  with  all  them  giggliri 
wenches  at  the  back  of  the  church  ? " 

For  three  miserable  weeks  the  heavens  were 


320  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

deaf  to  our  entreaties,  and  matters  began  to 
look  pretty  black.  A  change  for  the  better 
was  confidently  expected  with  the  new  moon  ; 
and  though  I  have  never  been  able  to  discover 
the  origin  of  the  superstition,  nor  a  reason  for 
it,  I  found  myself  as  expectant  as  any  of  my 
neighbours — like  that  other  great  philosopher, 
who  didn't  believe  in  ghosts,  but  was  des- 
perately afraid  of  them.  However,  the  new 
moon  brought  no  relief  to  our  sorry  plight — 
and  the  superstition  lives  on  in  our  parish, 
unimpaired.  Ominous  rumours  about  the  end 
of  the  world  spread  from  cottage  to  cottage, 
and  our  wits  were  busy  in  discovering  the 
culprit  whose  misdeeds  had  precipitated  the 
coming  catastrophe.  Most  of  us  were  per- 
suaded that  it  was  Tom  Mellon  the  waggoner, 
a  good  workman  but  an  irredeemable  drunkard  ; 
and  Tom,  who  was  aware  of  our  suspicions, 
became  thoroughly  scared.  For  the  first  time 
in  twenty  years  Tom  kept  away  from  the 
public-house  when  his  wages  were  paid,  and 
went  to  bed  sober  but  terribly  depressed  on 
Saturday  night.     On  Monday  morning,  Mrs 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS  WAYS    321 

Mellon,  whose  face  for  once  bore  no  trace  of 
bruises,  informed  our  cook  that  "her  master 
had  had  a  dreadful  bad  night.     He  would  keep 
jumping  out  o'  bed  and  going  to  the  window,  to 
look  into  the  sky  and  see  if  anything  was  wpT 
Tom  had  communicated  his  fears,  when  in  an 
early  stage  of  development,  to  his  boon  com- 
panion, Charley  Stamp  the  ex-roadman,  whose 
old-age  pension  went  the  way  of  Tom's  wages 
and  swelled  the  revenues  of  the  public-house 
by  the  regular  sum  of  five  shillings  per  week. 
These  two  Arcadians,  as  they  sat  over  their 
cups,  concerted  a  plan,  composed  mainly  of  bad 
language,  for  defeating  the  ends  of  justice  on 
the  Day  of  Doom ;  and  on  the  Saturday  night 
previous  to  the  one  last  mentioned  came  home 
together  abominably  intoxicated,  waving  their 
hats  and  roaring  out  as  they  went  up  the  village 
that  they  were  "  ready  "  for  Judgment — "  with 
a   tooral-ri-looral,  and   a  rooral-li-ray."     Sub- 
I     sequent  events  proved  that  neither  of  them 
was   "ready."      Tom's   courage,  as   we   have 
seen,  went  to  pieces  on  hearing  it  definitely 

whispered  that  the  universe  was  about  to  be 

21 


ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

wiped  out  in  consequence  of  his  bad  habits. 
Charley's  downfall  was  even  more  sudden.  In 
the  small  hours  of  the  very  morning  after  his 
performance  in  the  village  street  it  happened 
that  Farmer  Jeremy's  bull,  scenting  a  cow  in 
a  neighbouring  pasture,  expressed  his  senti- 
ments by  emitting  a  loud  bellow.  The  sound 
travelled  to  Charley's  cottage,  and,  descending 
the  chimney,  mingled  with  his  drunken  dreams. 
"  Get  up,  missis,"  he  shouted,  *'  get  up ;  the 
trumpet's  sounding!"  and  rushing  into  the 
garden  he  began  to  howl  like  a  jackal.  The 
howls  woke  the  village,  and  a  score  of  terrified 
souls,  myself  among  them,  convinced  that 
"  it  was  come  at  last,"  looked  out  of  their 
windows — only  to  find  that  a  lovely  morning 
was  breaking  over  the  hills.  Fine  weather 
returned  soon  after  ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
with  its  coming  the  moral  reformation  which 
had  begun  so  hopefully  in  Tom  and  Charley, 
and  spread  to  several  less  hardened  sinners  in 
our  village,  was  terminated  at  a  stroke. 

It  must  have  been  some  four  or  five  days 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND   HIS   WAYS     823 

before  the  change  came  in  the  weather  that 
I  took  advantage  of  a  bright  interval  in  the 
evening  to  walk  across  the  summit  of  the  hill 
which  shades  my  house  from  the  setting  sun. 
I  pushed  on  into  the  upland  until  the  dusk 
had  fallen,  and  found  myself  at  last  in  a 
deserted  quarry — a  long  familiar  spot,  where 
in  old  days  I  used  to  meet  Snarley  Bob. 
There  I  sat  down  on  the  very  heap  of  stones 
on  which  he  sat  as  he  talked  to  me  of  the 
stars.  In  due  time  the  stars  came  out,  and  I 
wondered  in  which  of  them  the  great  spirit 
of  my  old  friend  had  found  its  abode.  I 
imagined  it  was  Capella ;  why  1  know  not, 
unless  it  be  that  Capella  was  the  star  to  which 
Snarley 's  finger  often  pointed  when  he  lifted 
up  his  voice  about  the  things  on  high.  This 
has  nothing  to  do  with  my  story,  and  I 
mention  it  here  only  because  1  find  myself 
wondering  at  this  moment  how  spirits  so 
diverse  as  those  of  Snarley  Bob  and  Tom 
Mellon  could  have  breathed  the  same  atmo- 
sphere and  drawn  their  sustenance  from  the 
same  environijient. 


324  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

I  lingered  in  the  quarry  pondering  my 
memories  until  the  great  rain-clouds,  creeping 
up  from  different  points  of  the  horizon,  had 
met  in  the  zenith  and  every  star  had  dis- 
appeared. A  sullen  rain  began  to  fall,  and 
black  darkness  was  over  the  hill. 

I  turned  homewards,  reflecting  that  it  might 
not  be  easy  to  find  my  way  by  the  sheep- 
tracks  on  so  dark  a  night.  1  remembered  that 
on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  some  two  miles 
from  where  I  was,  there  stood  an  isolated 
barn  surrounded  by  sheds  for  the  shelter  of 
cattle.  From  this  point  the  way  down  into 
the  village  could  hardly  be  missed,  and  thither 
accordingly  I  turned  my  steps.  With  some 
difficulty  I  found  the  barn;  for  the  ways 
were  wet  and  in  some  places  impassable,  and 
the  night,  as  I  have  said,  was  very  dark. 

On  nearing  the  barn  I  was  astonished  to 
notice  a  gleam  of  light  issuing  from  the  half- 
closed  door.  I  approached,  and  as  I  did  so 
I  was  yet  more  astonished,  and  a  little  scared, 
to  hear  the  loud  and  lamentable  tones  of  a 
human  voice.    I  listened,  and  at  once  recognised 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS  WAYS    325 

the  voice  as  Jeremy's,  though  I  could  not  hear 
what  he  was  saying  nor  explain  to  myself  the 
preternatural  solemnity  of  the  tone.  It  was 
not  a  cry  of  pain,  nor  that  of  a  man  in  need 
of  human  help.  I  drew  yet  nearer,  and  it 
became  plain  to  me  that  Jeremy  was  praying. 

Curiosity  tempting  me  on,  I  crept  up  to 
the  barn  and  looked  in  through  the  partly 
opened  door.  This  is  what  I  saw.  Kneeling 
on  the  floor  towards  the  further  side  of  the 
barn,  with  a  lighted  stable-lantern  suspended 
over  his  head,  was  Jeremy.  His  back  was 
towards  me,  but  I  could  see  that  he  had  a 
book  in  his  hand.  A  glance  was  sufficient  to 
show  me  that  I  was  looking  at  a  man  in 
wrestle  with  his  God.  I  knew  the  signs  of 
Jeremy's  earnestness ;  and  they  were  there — 
intense,  unmistakable.  Never  have  I  wit- 
nessed a  more  solemn  spectacle,  and,  had  not 
something  held  me  spell-bound  to  the  spot, 
I  should  have  retreated  in  very  shame  of  my 
intrusion. 

At  the  moment  when  I  first  caught  sight  of 
his  figure  Jeremy  was  silent.     His  head  was 


326  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

bowed  on  his  chest,  his  feet  were  drawn  close 
together,  and  his  right  hand,  holding  the  book 
— which  I  saw  was  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer — drooped  on  the  ground.  I  noted  the 
head  of  a  steel  rat-trap  protruding  from  the 
big  side-pocket  of  his  coat.  I  also  remember 
how  the  bright  nails  of  his  boots,  of  which  the 
soles  were  turned  towards  me,  glittered  in  the 
lightjof  the  lantern. 

Presently  Jeremy  raised  the  book,  turned 
over  |the  leaves — for  he  had  lost  the  place — 
slightly  readjusted  his  position,  and  in  a  deep 
and  solemn  voice  again  began  to  pray.  And 
this  was  his  prayer  : 

"  O  Almighty  Lord  God,  who  for  the  sin  of  man 
didst  once  drown  all  the  world,  except  eight 
persons,  and  afterward  of  thy  great  mercy  didst 
promise  never  to  destroy  it  so  again :  we  humbly 
beseech  thee,  that  although  we  for  our  iniquities 
have  worthily  deserved  a  plague  of  rain  and  waters, 
yet  upon  our  true  repentance  thou  wilt  send  us 
such  weather,  as  that  we  may  receive  the  fruits  of 
the  earth  in  due  season ;  and  learn  both  by  thy 
punishment  to  amend  our  lives,  and  for  thy 
clemency  to  give  thee  praise  and  glory;  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen."" 


FARMER  JEREMY  AND  HIS   WAYS    327 

It  was  enough.  Quickly  and  silently  as  I 
could  I  slipped  away  into  the  darkness,  filled 
with  a  sense  of  the  sacrilege  of  my  intrusion 
and  the  solemnity  of  the  hour.  I  have  listened 
in  my  time  to  many  prayers  of  many  men ;  1 
have  heard  the  Almighty  flattered,  compli- 
mented, instructed  in  the  metaphysics  of  his 
own  nature,  and  insulted  by  the  grovelling 
and  insincere  self-depreciation  of  his  own 
creatures ;  I  have  heard  him  talked  at,  and 
talked  about,  by  cowardly  men-pleasers  who 
had  no  more  religion  than  a  rhinoceros  ;  and  1 
have  wondered  much  at  the  patience  of  heaven 
with  all  this  detestable  eloquence.  I  have 
heard  also  the  short  and  stumbling  prayers  of 
the  honest,  of  the  Salvationist  kneeling  in  the 
thoroughfare  of  a  town  full  of  sin,  of  the 
mother  with  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  a 
dying  child ;  but  none  even  of  these  have 
dealt  so  shrewd  a  thrust  at  my  self-satisfaction 
as  did  the  prayer  of  Farmer  Jeremy.  What 
strange  secrets,  I  thought,  are  hidden  in  the 
human  heart !  Verily,  the  ways  of  man,  like 
the  ways  of  God,  are  past  finding  out. 


85W  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  I  had  given  Jeremy 
a  promise  that  I  would,  that  very  night,  join 
him  at  supper  and  "have  a  chat."  1  would 
gladly  have  found  an  excuse  if  I  could.  But  it 
was  not  easy  to  excuse  oneself  to  Jeremy ;  his 
discernments  were  keen.  Moreover,  I  half 
feared  that  he  might  have  discovered  my 
footsteps  outside  the  barn ;  and  I  knew  that 
if  he  had,  the  only  wise  course  was  to  face  the 
situation,  tell  the  truth,  and  have  it  out.  It 
was  soon  evident,  however,  that  he  had  dis- 
covered nothing;  and  I,  of  course,  kept  my 
counsel. 

I  entered  the  farm  kitchen  and  found  Mrs 
Jeremy  awaiting  her  husband  by  the  fire. 
"  Master's  late  in  coming  home,"  she  said. 
"  He's  gone  up  the  hill  with  a  lantern,  to  set 
traps  in  the  Grey  Barn.  He  says  it's  full  o' 
rats.  But  he  ought  to  have  come  back  half 
an  hour  ago." 

"  He'll  be  back  soon,"  I  answered ;  and  a 
moment  later  I  heard  the  ring  of  his  boots  on 
the  stone  flags  outside. 

Entering  the  room,  Jeremy,  without  greeting 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    329 

me,  walked  across  the  floor  and  tapped  the 
barometer  on  the  wall.  "  It's  rising,"  he  said. 
"  I  thought  it  would  by  the  look  of  the  moon 
last  night.  Well,  given  a  bit  o'  fine  weather 
now,  we  shall  not  do  so  badly  after  all.  The 
wheat's  less  sprouted  than  I  thought  it  was ; 
just  a  little  down  in  '  the  Guns,'  but  none  at 
all  in  *  Quebec'  Please  God,  we  shall  get 
forty-five  to  the  acre,  up  there ;  and  all  in 
tip-top  condition." 

"  How  are  the  root-crops  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Looking  splendid  ;  couldn't  be  better. 
You  see,  they're  all  on  the  high  ground." 

"  Did  you  set  your  traps  ? "  said  Mrs  Jeremy. 

"  I  did.  But  there's  too  many  rats  for 
trappin'  to  do  much  good.  We  must  try  this 
'ere  new  poison.  That'll  cook  their  gooses  for 
'em,  according  to  what  I  hear." 

After  supper  the  conversation  turned  once 
more  on  the  weather.  "  It's  bound  to  mend," 
said  Jeremy ;  "  there's  a  rising  glass,  and  the 
wind's  gone  round  to  the  north-west  since  I 
went  up  the  hill.  Just  look  out  o'  this  winder 
at  them  clouds  drifting  across  the  sky.     And 


330  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

they're  a  lot  higher  up  than  they  were  this 
afternoon.  And  I  tell  you  these  'ere  prayers 
as  we've  been  puttin'  up  in  church  are  bound 
to  do  some  good,  though  they  mayn't  do  all 
the  good  as  we  want.  I've  noticed  it  again 
and  again,  both  wet  seasons  and  droughty." 

"  The  prayer  of  a  righteous  man  availeth 
much,"  said  Mrs  Jeremy,  who,  notwithstanding 
her  mental  wanderings  during  the  Athanasian 
Creed,  was  a  pious  soul. 

I  was  sorry  the  conversation  had  taken  this 
turn,  being  disinclined  to  discuss  the  subject 
just  then.  But  Jeremy  was  only  too  ready  to 
take  the  cue. 

**  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  and  the  prayer  of  a  sinner 
is  sometimes  almost  as  good  as  the  prayer  of  a 
righteous  man  ;  though,  mind  you,  I  don't  say 
it's  quite  as  good.  I'm  a  bit  of  a  sinner  my- 
self ;  but  I've  had  lots  of  answers  to  prayer  in 
my  life.  Lots^  I  tell  you.  You  see,  it's  this 
way.  My  belief  is,  that  you've  no  business  to 
want  a  thing  unless  you're  ready  to  pray  for 
it.  Of  course,  you  can't  always  tell  what  you 
ought  to  want  and  what  you  oughtn't — that's 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    331 

the  difficulty.  But  my  plan  is  to  pray  for 
everything  as  I  wants  and  then  leave  the  Lord 
to  sort  out  the  bad  from  the  good.  There's 
a  Collect  in  church  as  puts  it  in  that  way. 
Mind  you,  I  wouldn't  pray  for  anything  as  I 
knowed  were  bad.  There'd  be  no  sense  in 
that.  And  as  for  fine  weather,  all  points  to 
that  being  good,  and  your  prayer  stands  a  fair 
chance  of  being  answered.  Of  course,  it  may 
be  bad  for  reasons  we  don't  know  about ; 
though  I  don't  think  it  is  myself.  So  it's  right 
to  pray  for  it.  Pray  for  everything  you  want — 
that's  what  1  says ;  and  leave  the  rest  to  the 
Lord." 

Jeremy  would  no  doubt  have  said  much 
more,  for  he  was  a  great  talker  when  started 
on  his  favourite  themes,  and  this  was  one  of 
them.  But  we  were  interrupted  by  a  cry 
from  Mrs  Jeremy  at  the  other  side  of  the 
table.     It  was  simply,  "  Oh  dear ! " 

Looking  up,  I  saw  that  she  was  leaning 
forward  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands, 
sobbing  violently. 

"Darn   my   gaiters!"    said    Jeremy,   "I'm 


332  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

nought  but  a  fool.  I  oughtn't  to  ha'  talked 
about  them  things  before  my  missus.  I  never 
do ;  but  something's  made  me  forget  myself 
to-night.  You  see,  it's  reminded  her  of  our 
trouble." 

I  did  not  understand  this  last  remark.  But 
I  asked  no  question,  being  too  much  occupied 
in  watching  the  infinite  tenderness  of  the  good 
man  as  he  sought  to  comfort  his  wife.  I  draw 
a  veil  over  that.  "  Now  go  to  bed,  there's  a 
good  girl,  and  think  no  more  about  it,"  was 
the  end  of  what  he  had  to  say. 

Mrs  Jeremy  retired,  the  tears  standing  in 
her  eyes.  She  shook  hands  with  me,  but 
didn't  speak. 

Jeremy  resumed  his  seat,  lit  his  pipe,  and 
began  to  explain.  His  voice  trembled  and 
almost  broke  down  with  the  first  sentence. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  waving  his  hand  towards 
the  fire,  "  it's  a  childless  hearth.  ...  It  hasn't 
always  been.  There  was  one,  once — fifteen 
years  ago.  He  was  six  years  of  age — as  bright 
a  little  nipper  as  ever  you  see.  Oh  yes,  he 
said   his   prayers:    said   one  too   many,   that 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    333 

he  did.  .  .  .  O  my  God!  .  .  .  Well,  it  was 
this  way.  It  was  one  Christmas  Eve,  and  a 
young  lady  as  we  had  for  his  governess  had 
been  telling  the  little  nipper  all  about  Father 
Christmas — I  don't  blame  her ;  she's  never  got 
over  it  any  more  than  we  have,  and  never 
will —  ...  all  about  Father  Christmas,  as  I 
was  saying ;  and  he  drinks  it  all  in  with  his 
wide  little  eyes,  as  though  it  was  Gospel  truth. 
'  I'll  tell  Father  Christmas  to  bring  me  some- 
thing real  nice,'  he  says.  So  just  before  they 
put  him  to  bed  that  night  he  goes  to  that 
open  fireplace,  where  you're  sitting  now,  and 
pops  his  head  up  the  chimney,  and  calls  out, 
*  Father  Christmas,  please  bring  me  to-night  a 
magic  lantern,  a  pair  of  roller  skates,  four  wax 
candles,  and  a  box  o'  them  chocolates  with  the 
little  nuts  inside  'em,  for  Jesus  Christ  sake. 
Amen.'  Then  he  goes  away  from  the  fire, 
and  I  says,  '  All  right,  nipper,  I'll  bring  'em,' 
from  behind  that  door,  in  a  voice  to  make  him 
believe  as  Father  Christmas  was  answering. 
Well,  he  starts  to  go  to  bed ;  but  just  as  he 
reached  them  stairs  in  the  passage   he   runs 


834  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

back,  and  pops  his  little  head  up  the  chimney 
again.  '  Father  Christmas,'  he  says,  *  don't 
forget  the  little  nuts  in  the  chocolates.  I 
don't  want  none  o'  them  pink  'uns.'  And, 
O  my  God !  he'd  hardly  spoken  the  words 
when  more  than  half  a  hundredweight  of 
blazing  soot  comes  slathering  down  the 
chimney  and  falls  right  on  the  top  of  him 
just  where  he  stood.  I  tell  you  there  never 
was  a  thing  seen  like  it  since  this  world  began  ! 
The  room  was  filled  with  black  smoke  in  a 
second  ;  we  were  all  blinded  ;  we  could  neither 
breathe  nor  see.  We  couldn't  see  him,  we 
couldn't  find  him;  and  we  all  stumbled  up 
against  one  another ;  and  the  missus  fell  in- 
sensible on  the  floor.  And  him  screaming 
with  pain  all  the  time  —  and  I  tell  you  I 
couldn't  find  him,  though  I  rushed  like  a 
madman  all  over  the  room  and  groped  every- 
where, and  put  my  hands  into  the  very  fire ! 
Then  I  went  too — dropped  like  a  stone.  It 
was  all  over  in  a  minute.  They  pulled  the 
rest  of  us  out  in  the  nick  of  time:  but  the 
poor  little  nipper  was  burned  to  death.  ..." 


FARMER  JEREMY   AND   HIS   WAYS    335 

Farmer  Jeremy  rose  from  his  seat  and  went 
to  the  window.  He  was  shaking  all  over  ; 
but  I  averted  my  glance,  for  it  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  see  a  strong  man  in  the  agony  of  his 
soul,  and  the  eyes  cannot  bear  it  long.  "  The 
clouds  are  breaking,"  he  said ;  "  and,  please 
God,  I'll  cut  'the  Slaughters'  to-morrow. 
But  there's  one  harvest  as  will  never  be  reaped : 
and  there's  one  cloud  that  will  never  break. 
Not  till  the  Resurrection  Morn.     Ah  me  !" 

On  the  lovely  afternoon  of  an  autumn 
Sunday,  about  a  fortnight  after  these  things, 
1  met  Jeremy  in  the  fields,  walking  the  round 
with  his  terrier  dog. 

"  Grand  weather  for  farmers,"  I  cried. 

"  Grand  it  is,  sir,"  he  answered,  '*  and  let  us 
be  thankful  for  it." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  it  has  been  long  enough  in 
coming,  and  is  all  the  more  welcome  now  it 
has  come." 

I  felt  that  the  words  struck  the  wrong  note  ; 
or  rather  they  struck  none  at  all,  where  a  note 
of  music  was  needed.     But  I  knew  not  what 


336  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

else  to  say.  Jeremy  with  all  his  reserve  was 
less  timid  and  more  affluent  than  I. 

"  Have  you  never  thought,  sir,"  he  said, 
drawing  near  to  me,  "  what  brought  the  fine 
weather  ? " 

I  hesitated  and  was  silent. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you,"  said  he.  "  The  power 
o'  prayer.'' 

That  very  day  I  had  been  reading  a  book 
on  Primitive  Religion ;  and  as  I  parted  from 
Jeremy  a  question  flashed  through  my  mind. 
"May  it  not  be,"  I  asked  myself,  "that 
Primitive  Religion  is  the  only  religion  that 
has  ever  existed,  or  will  exist,  in  the  world  ? " 


WHITE    ROSES 

Of  all  the  conversations  of  the  learned,  those 
in  which  History  and  Philosophy  maintain  the 
dialogue  are  probably  the  most  instructive. 
Such  a  conversation  I  was  fortunate  enough 
to  hear  not  long  ago  at  the  dinner-table  of  a 
friend  ;  and  the  occasion  was  the  more  inter- 
esting inasmuch  as  the  Philosopher  of  the 
party  was  led  by  a  turn  of  the  argument  to 
lay  aside  his  mantle  and  assume  the  role  of 
the  story-teller;  thereby  providing  us  with  a 
valuable  comment  on  the  very  philosophy 
with  which  his  own  illustrious  name  has  been 
long  associated. 

We  had  been  talking  during  dinner  about  a 
certain  Expedition  to  the  South  Seas  under- 
taken by  the  British  Government  in  the 
eighteenth   century ;   and   the   Historian  had 

337  22 


888  ALL  MEN  ARE  GHOSTS 

just  finished  a  most  surprising  narration  of 
the  facts,  based  on  his  recent  investigation  of 
unpublished  documents,  when  our  Hostess 
glanced  at  the  clock,  and  rising  from  her  chair 
gave  the  signal  to  the  ladies  to  depart. 

When  we  had  resumed  our  places  the 
Professor  of  Philosophy  said  to  the  Historian  : 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  us  what  in  your 
opinion  it  was  that  caused  the  Expedition  to 
turn  out  such  an  utter  failure." 

"  The  Expedition  failed,"  said  the  Historian, 
"  because  the  commander  was  not  allowed  to 
select  his  own  crews.  The  Government  of  the 
day  was  corrupt,  and  insisted  on  manning  the 
ships  with  men  of  its  own  choosing.  Some 
were  diseased ;  others  were  criminals ;  many 
had  never  handled  a  rope  in  their  lives.  Be- 
fore the  fleet  had  doubled  Cape  Horn  one- 
third  of  the  crews  had  perished,  and  the  rest 
were  mutinous.  The  enterprise  was  doomed 
to  failure  from  the  start." 

"  The  whole  planet  is  manned  in  the  same 
manner,"  said  the  Pessimist,  as  he  helped  him- 
self to  one  of  our  Host's  superlative  cigars. 


WHITE   ROSES  339 

"  I'm  sorry  for  the  Commander,  whoever 
he  is." 

"  What  precisely  do  you  mean  ? "  said  the 
Professor  of  Philosophy,  holding  a  lighted 
match  to  the  end  of  the  Pessimist's  cigar. 

"  I  mean,"  said  the  Pessimist,  "  that  the 
prospects  of  the  Human  Expedition  can't  be 
very  bright  so  long  as  Society  has  to  put  up 
with  anybody  and  everybody  who  happens 
to  be  born.  I  suppose  there  is  a  Human 
Expedition,"  he  went  on.  "  At  least,  you 
have  written  as  though  there  were.  But  who 
selects  the  crew  ?  Nobody.  They  come 
aboard  as  they  happen  to  be  born,  and  the 
unfortunate  Commander  has  to  put  up  with 
them  as  they  come — broken  men,  jail-deliveries, 
invalids,  sea-sick  land-lubbers,  and  Heaven 
knows  what.  Who  in  his  senses  would  put  to 
sea  with  such  a  crowd  ?  Humanity  is  always 
in  a  state  like  that  of  your  Expedition  when  it 
doubled  Cape  Horn — incompetent,  mutinous, 
or  sick  unto  death.  And  what  else  can  you 
expect  in  view  of  the  conditions  under  which 
we  all  arrive  on  the  planet  ? " 


840  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

The  Host  now  glanced  uneasily  at  the 
Professor  of  Philosophy,  whose  treatise  on 
The  World  Purpose  was  famous  throughout 
three  continents.  The  Professor  was  visibly 
arming  himself  for  the  fray  :  he  had  just  filled 
his  claret-glass  with  port. 

"Remember,"  said  the  Host,  "that  we 
must  join  the  ladies  in  twenty  minutes  at 
the  utmost." 

"I'm  not  going  to  argue,"  replied  the  Philo- 
sopher, after  a  resolute  sip  at  his  port ;  "I'm 
going  to  tell  you  a  story." 

"  Tell  it  in  the  drawing-room,"  said  the  Son 
of  the  House,  who  had  taken  his  pretty  cousin 
down  to  dinner,  and  was  a  little  exhilarated 
by  that  and  by  the  excellence  of  his  father's 
wine ;  "  that  is  to  say," — and  he  spoke  eagerly, 
as  if  a  bright  idea  had  struck  him, — "  that  is 
to  say,  of  course,  if  it  will  bear  telling  in  the 
presence  of  ladies." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  the  Son 
of  the  House  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think,"  said  the  Professor, 
"  that  my  story,  so  far  from  being  unsuitable 


WHITE   ROSES  341 

for  the  ladies,  will  be  intelligible  to  no 
one  else." 

"  We'll  join  the  ladies  at  once,"  said  the 
Host,  "  and  hear  the  Professor's  story." 

The  Pessimist,  who  was  fond  of  talking, 
now  broke  in.  "That,"  he  said,  "is  most 
attractive,  but  not  quite  fair  to  me.  I  should 
like  to  finish  what  I  have  begun.  And  I 
doubt  if  my  views  will  be  quite  in  place  in 
the  drawing-room.  Besides,  the  Professor 
must  finish  his  port.  I  was  only  going  to 
say,"  he  went  on,  "  that  the  having  to  put  up 
with  all  that  comes  in  human  shape  is  a 
very  serious  affair.  It  seems  to  me  that  we 
all  arrive  in  the  world  like  dumped  goods. 
Nobody  has  '  ordered  '  us,  and  perhaps  nobody 
wants  us.  Our  parents  wanted  us,  did  you  say  ? 
Well,  I  suppose  our  parents  wanted  children  ; 
but  it  doesn't  follow  that  they  wanted  you 
or  me.  Somebody  else  might  have  filled 
the  book  as  well,  or  better.  Our  birth  is  a 
matter  of  absolute  chance.  For  example,  my 
father  has  often  told  me  how  he  met  my 
mother.     There  was  a  picnic  on  a  Swiss  lake. 


842  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

My  father's  watch  was  slow,  and  when  he 
arrived  at  the  quay  the  boat  that  carried  his 
party  was  out  of  sight.  It  so  happened  that 
there  was  another  party — people  my  father 
didn't  know — going  to  another  island,  and 
seeing  him  disconsolate  on  the  quay  they  took 
pity  on  him  and  made  him  go  with  them.  It 
was  in  that  boat  that  he  first  met  my  mother. 
The  moral  is  obvious.  If  my  father's  watch 
had  kept  better  time  I  should  never  have  been 
in  existence.  ["  A  jolly  good  thing,  too," 
whispered  the  Son  of  the  House.]  Neither 
would  my  six  brothers,  nor  any  of  our  descen- 
dants to  the  nth  generation.  Well,  that's 
how  the  whole  planet  gets  itself  manned. 
That's  how  the  crew  is  *  chosen.'  And  that's 
why  the  Expedition  gets  into  trouble  on 
rounding  Cape  Horn." 

"  It's  a  capital  introduction  to  my  story," 
said  the  Professor,  in  whom,  after  his  second 
claret-glass  of  port,  The  World  Purpose  had 
assumed  a  new  intensity.  "  I  wish  the  ladies 
could  have  heard  it." 

"  I  venture  to  think,"  said  our  Host,  "  that 


WHITE   ROSES  343 

the  ladies  will  understand  the  story  all  the 
better  for  not  having  heard  the  introduction. 
You  see,  I  am  assuming  that  the  story  is  a 
good  one — which  is  as  much  as  to  say  that 
no  introduction  is  needed." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  I  say,"  broke  in  the  Son  of  the  House,  "  I 
say.  Professor,  it's  a  pity  you  didn't  take  that 
question  up  in  The  World  Purpose.  That's 
an  awfully  good  point  of  the  Pessimist's,  and 
a  jolly  difficult  one  to  answer,  too.  I  should 
like  to  see  you  tackle  it.  Why,  I  once  heard 
the  Pater  here  say  to  the  Mater " 

"  We'll  go  upstairs,"  said  our  Host. 

"  About  ten  years  ago,"  the  Professor  began, 
"  1  was  travelling  one  night  in  a  third-class 
carriage  to  a  town  on  the  North-east  Coast. 
My  two  companions  in  the  compartment  were 
evidently  mother  and  daughter.  The  mother 
had  a  singularly  beautiful  and  intelligent  face  ; 
and  the  daughter,  who  was  about  twelve  years 
old,  resembled  her.  They  were  dressed  in 
good  taste,  without  rings   or  finery,  and,  so 


344  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

far  as  I  am  able  to  judge  such  things,  without 
expense. 

"Prior  to  the  departure  of  the  train  from 
the  London  terminus,  I  had  noticed  the  two 
walking  up  and  down  the  platform  and  look- 
ing into  the  carriages,  apparently  endeavouring 
to  find  a  compartment  to  themselves.  They 
did  not  succeed,  and  finally  entered  the  com- 
partment where  I  was.  Whether  I  ought 
to  have  been  flattered  by  this,  or  the  reverse, 
I  knew  not. 

"  I  could  see  they  wanted  to  be  alone,  and 
I  felt  a  brief  impulse  to  leave  them  to  them- 
selves and  go  elsewhere.  It  would  have  been 
a  chivalrous  act ;  but  whether  from  indolence, 
or  curiosity,  or  some  other  feeling,  I  let  the 
impulse  die,  and  remained  where  I  was. 

"  The  girl  began  immediately  to  arrange 
cushions  for  her  mother  in  the  corner  of  the 
carriage ;  and  from  the  solicitude  she  showed, 
I  gathered  that  the  mother,  though  to  all 
appearance  in  health,  was  either  ill  or  con- 
valescent. By  the  time  I  had  come  to  this 
conclusion  the  train  was   already  in   motion. 


WHITE   ROSES  846 

or  I  verily  believe  I  should  have  obeyed  my 
first  impulse  and  left  the  carriage.  I  am  glad, 
however,  that  I  did  not. 

"When  all  had  been  arranged  I  noticed 
that  the  two  had  settled  themselves  in  the 
attitude  of  lovers,  their  hands  clasped,  the 
girl  resting  her  head  on  the  mother's  shoulder 
and  gazing  into  her  face  from  time  to  time 
with  a  look  of  infinite  tenderness.  And 
it  was  some  relief  to  me  to  observe  that, 
lover-like,  they  seemed  indifferent  to  my 
presence. 

"  I  was  reading  a  book,  though  I  confess 
that  my  eyes  and  mind  would  constantly 
wander  to  the  other  side  of  the  carriage.  I 
am  not  a  sentimental  person,  and  scenes  of 
sentiment  are  particularly  objectionable  to 
my  temper  of  mind ;  but  for  once  in  my  life 
I  was  overawed  by  the  consciousness  that  I 
was  in  the  presence  of  deep  and  genuine 
emotion.  Finally,  I  gave  up  the  effort  to 
read  ;  a  strange  mental  atmosphere  seemed  to 
surround  me;  I  fell  into  a  reverie,  and  I 
remember  waking   suddenly  from   a   kind   of 


S46  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

dream,  or  incoherent  meditation  on  the  pathos 
and  tragedy  of  human  life. 

"I  looked  at  my  companions  and  I  saw 
that  both  were  weeping.  The  girl  was  in  the 
same  position  as  before.  The  mother  had 
turned  her  face  away,  and  was  looking  out 
into  the  blackness  of  the  night.  Tear  after 
tear  rolled  down  her  cheek. 

"They  must  have  become  conscious  that 
I  was  observing  them,  though  God  knows  I 
had  little  will  to  do  so.  I  took  up  my  book 
and  pretended  to  read ;  and  I  knew  that  an 
effort  was  being  made,  that  tears  were  being 
checked,  that  some  climbing  sorrow  was 
being  held  down.  Presently  the  lady  said, 
speaking  in  a  steady  voice — 

" '  Do  you  know  the  name  of  the  station 
we  have  just  passed  ? ' 

"  I  told  her  the  name  of  the  station ;  asked 
if  I  should  raise  the  window ;  spoke  to  the 
girl ;  offered  an  illustrated  paper,  and  so  on 
through  the  usual  preliminaries  of  a  traveller's 
talk.  The  answers  I  received  were  such  as 
one  expects  from  people  of  charming  manners. 


WHITE   ROSES  347 

But  nothing  followed,  for  a  time,  and  I  again 
took  up  my  book. 

*'  The  book  I  was  reading,  or  pretending  to 
read,  was  a  volume  of  the  Ingersoll  Lectures, 
bearing  on  the  back  the  title  Human  Im- 
mortality. Once  or  twice  I  noticed  the  eyes 
of  the  woman  resting  on  this ;  but  I  was 
greatly  surprised  when,  in  one  of  the  pauses 
when  I  laid  down  the  book,  she  said — 

" '  Would  you  mind  my  asking  you  a 
question  ? ' 

" '  Certainly  not.' 

"  '  Do  you  believe  in  the  Immortality  of  the 
Soul?' 

"As  a  teacher  of  philosophy  I  am  accus- 
tomed to  leading  questions  at  all  sorts  of 
inopportune  moments,  but  never  in  my  life 
was  I  so  completely  taken  aback.  How- 
ever, I  collected  my  thoughts  as  best  I  could, 
and,  though  the  subject  is  one  on  which  I 
never  like  to  speak  without  prolonged  pre- 
paration, I  briefly  told  her  my  opinions  on 
that  great  problem,  as  you  may  find  them 
expressed   in   my  published  works.     Possibly 


348  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

1  spoke  with  some  fervour;  the  more  likely, 
because  I  spoke  without  preparation.  She 
listened  with  great  attention ;  and  as  for  the 
young  girl,  her  face  was  lit  up  with  a  look  of 
intelligent  eagerness  which,  had  I  seen  it  for 
one  moment  in  my  own  class-room,  would 
have  rewarded  me  for  the  labour  of  a  long 
course  of  lectures. 

"  I  had  still  much  to  say  when  the  train 
drew  up  at  the  platform  of  St  Beeds. 

"  *  I'm  sorry  not  to  hear  more,'  said  the  lady, 
*  but  this  is  our  destination.' 

"  '  And  there's  Dad  ! '  cried  the  girl. 

"A  man  in  working  clothes  stood  at  the 
carriage-door. 

*'  *  Good-bye,'  said  the  woman,  warmly 
shaking  me  by  the  hand  ;  '  you  have  been  most 
kind  to  me.' 

" '  Good-bye,'  said  the  daughter ;  '  you're 
a  dear  old  dear  ! " 

"  And  with  that  she  threw  her  arms  round 
my  neck  and  kissed  me  fervently  three  or 
four  times.  I  was  greatly  surprised,  but  not 
altogether  displeased. 


WHITE   ROSES  349 

"They  were  evidently  a  most  affectionate 
family.  As  the  train  moved  off  the  three 
stood  arm  in  arm  before  the  carriage-door. 

" '  Got  two  sweethearts  to-night,  sir,'  said 
the  man. 

" '  And  without  jealousy,'  said  I.  'I  con- 
gratulate you  on  each  of  them.' 

" '  I  hope  you'll  forgive  my  daughter,'  he 
said ;  '  she's  an  impulsive  little  baggage.' 

"  '  She  may  repeat  the  offence  the  next  time 
we  meet,'  I  replied  ;  and  we  all  laughed. 

"  It  was  a  joyful  ending  to  what  had  been, 
in  some  respects,  a  painful  experience." 

"  I  don't  see  the  point  of  your  story.  Pro- 
fessor ;  and  1  am  at  a  loss  to  imagine  what  it 
has  to  do  with  my  introduction."  This  from 
the  Pessimist. 

"  The  story  has  only  begun,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor, who  was  sipping  his  tea. 

"Those  kisses  at  the  end  were  jolly  hard 
lines  on  a  man  who  dislikes  sentiment,"  said 
the  Son  of  the  House. 

'*  I  didn't  find  them  so,"  answered  the  Pro- 


350  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

fessor.  "  But  remember,  they  were  only  the 
kisses  of  a  child." 

"  The  best  sort,"  growled  the  Pessimist. 

"  True,"  said  our  Hostess.  "  The  judg- 
ments of  children  are  the  judgments  of  God. 
But  let  the  Professor  go  on." 

**  It  was  seven  or  eight  months  later,"  the 
Professor  resumed,  *'  when  on  opening  the 
Times  one  morning  my  attention  was  caught 
by  an  item  of  news  relating  to  the  town  at 
which  my  two  companions  had  alighted  from 
the  train.  The  news  itself  was  of  no  import- 
ance, but  the  name  of  the  town  printed  at  the 
head  of  the  paragraph  strangely  arrested  me, 
and  served  to  recall  with  singular  vividness 
the  incident  of  my  former  journey.  1  found 
myself  repeating,  in  order  and  minute  detail, 
everything  that  had  happened  in  the  carriage, 
some  of  the  particulars  of  which  1  had  for- 
gotten till  that  moment.  The  end  of  it  was 
that  I  became  possessed  with  a  strong  desire 
to  visit  St  Beeds,  though  I  had  no  connections 
whatever  with  the  place,  and  had  never  stayed 


WHITE   ROSES  851 

there  in  my  life.  I  knew,  of  course,  that  it 
was  an  interesting  old  town,  with  a  famous 
Cathedral,  and  I  remember  persuading  myself 
at  the  time,  and  indeed  telling  my  wife,  that 
I  ought  to  visit  that  Cathedral  without  further 
delay.  As  the  day  wore  on  the  impulse  grew 
stronger,  and  eventually  overpowered  me.  I 
travelled  down  to  St  Beeds  that  night,  and 
put  up  at  one  of  the  principal  hotels. 

"  The  next  morning  was  spent  in  the  usual 
manner  of  sight-seers  in  an  ancient  town. 
Reserving  the  Cathedral  for  the  afternoon,  I 
visited  the  old  wall  and  the  dismantled  quays, 
and  wandered  among  the  narrow  streets,  read- 
ing history,  as  my  habit  is,  from  the  monu- 
ments with  which  the  place  abounded.  About 
noon  I  found  my  way  to  the  spacious  market- 
place, and  began  inspecting  the  beautiful  front 
of  the  old  Town  Hall. 

"  I  suddenly  became  aware  of  a  man  on 
the  opposite  pavement,  who  was  watching  me 
with  some  interest.  What  drew  my  attention 
to  him  was  a  large  mass  of  white  roses  which  he 
was  carrying  in  a  basket ;  for,  as  you  know,  I 


S52  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

have  been  for  many  years  an  enthusiastic  rose- 
grower,  and  there  is  nothing  which  attracts  the 
mind  so  rapidly  as  any  circumstance  connected 
with  one's  hobby.  The  man  was  dressed  in 
good  clothes ;  and  it  was  this  that  prevented 
me  at  first  from  recognising  him  as  the  person 
who  had  met  my  two  companions  at  the  station 
seven  months  before. 

"  Seeing  that  I  had  observed  him,  he  crossed 
the  street. 

"  *  You  remember  me  ? '  he  said.  '  Well, 
I  have  been  looking  for  you  all  over  the  town. 
Had  I  known  your  name  I  should  have  asked 
at  the  hotels.' 

"  *  But  how  did  you  know  I  had  arrived  ? '  I 
asked. 

" '  My  wife  told  me  you  were  here.' 

"  *  She  must  have  seen  me,  then,'  I  said. 

" '  Yes,  she  saw  you.  She  saw  you  arrive 
last  night  at  the  station.  And  she  saw  you 
later,  standing  under  an  electric  lamp,  in  front 
of  the  Cathedral.' 

"  This  struck  me  as  odd,  for  I  had  purposely 
waited  till  near  midnight  before  going  to  the 


WHITE   ROSES  35& 

Cathedral,  that  I  might  see  the  exterior  in  the 
light  of  the  moon ;  and  I  had  been  confident 
that  not  a  soul  was  about. 

" '  How  is  she  ? '  I  asked,  for  I  remembered 
my  previous  impression  that  she  was  an 
invalid. 

"'Oh,  much  better,'  he  answered;  'in  fact, 
quite  restored.     It's  a  great  comfort.' 

" '  It  was  very  kind  of  her  to  send  you 
to  look  for  me,'  I  said.  '  Perhaps  I  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  later  on  in 
the  day — and  your  daughter  as  well.  You 
remember  I  congratulated  you  on  your  two 
sweethearts  ? ' 

" '  Yes,'  he  answered,  '  and  you  were  not 
far  wrong  in  that.  But  wouldn't  you  like  to 
take  a  turn  round  the  old  town  first  ?  It's  a 
wonderful  place  and  full  of  interest.  And  I 
know  it  through  and  through.' 

"  I  was  greatly  puzzled  by  his  manner. 
His  speech  and  address  were  certainly  remark- 
able for  a  working  man ;  and  I  confess  that 
for  a  moment  the  thought  crossed  my  mind 
that  he  was  some  sort  of  impostor,  and  that  I 


S54  ALL  MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

should  be  well  advised  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him.  I  suppose  it  was  his  basket  of  roses 
that  reassured  me. 

**  *  Well,'  I  said,  *  I've  seen  a  good  deal 
already.  But  I've  no  objection  to  seeing  it 
all  again.     I'll  put  myself  in  your  hands.' 

** '  Splendid  ! '  he  cried.  '  It's  an  ideal  day, 
and  I'm  hungering  for  sunlight  and  beauty, 
and  thirsting  for  the  peace  of  ancient  memories. 
And  it  will  please  my  wife  to  know  that  I've 
taken  you  round.  What  do  you  say  to  going 
up  the  river  first?  There's  a  glorious  reach 
beyond  the  bridge.  And  the  sun's  in  the 
right  position  to  give  you  the  best  view  of 
the  Cathedral.' 

"  *  Nothing  would  please  me  better,'  said  I  ; 
and  we  set  off  at  once  toward  the  river. 

"  On  passing  a  certain  building  he  bade  me 
carefully  examine  the  roof,  the  form  of  which 
was  remarkable.  While  I  was  engaged  in 
so  doing,  unconscious  for  a  moment  of  his 
presence,  I  suddenly  seemed  to  hear  him 
groan  behind  me ;  and  turning  round  I  saw 
that  he  was  holding  tight  to  the  iron  railings 


WHITE   ROSES  355 

on  the  other  side  of  the  foot-walk,  and  sway- 
ing his  body  backward  and  forward,  as  though 
he  were  in  pain. 

"  *  Are  you  ill  ? '  I  asked,  in  some  alarm. 

"  *  Not  at  all.  This  is  just  my  way  of  rest- 
ing when  I'm  tired.     Come  along.' 

" '  That's  a  splendid  lot  of  roses  in  your 
basket,'  I  said,  as  we  took  our  places  in  the 
boat,  he  sculling  and  I  steering.  '  Frau  Carl 
Druschki,  unless  I'm  much  mistaken.' 

" '  Yes.  I  grew  them  on  my  allotment. 
I'm  taking  them  home  to  my  wife.' 

"  For  some  time  we  talked  roses.  He  had 
a  theory  of  pruning,  which  differed  from  mine, 
and  led  to  a  good  deal  of  argument.  Finally, 
he  dropped  his  sculls,  and,  taking  a  piece  of 
paper  from  his  pocket,  drew  on  it  the  diagram 
of  a  rose-bush  pruned  according  to  his  method. 
We  had  forgotten  the  Cathedral. 

"  I  took  his  drawing  and  began  to  criticise. 
*  Oh  ! '  he  said,  *  let's  drop  it.  We're  missing 
one  of  the  noblest  sights  in  England.  Look 
at  that  1 '     And  he  pointed  to  the  heights. 

"As   we   dropped   down   the  river  half  an 


956  ALL  MEN  ARE   GHOSTS 

hour  later,  my  companion,  who  had  been  silent 
for  some  time,  again  broke  out  on  the  subject 
of  roses.  '  Rose-growing  is  a  thing  that  takes 
time  and  patience  and  thought,'  he  said. 
*More  perhaps  than  it's  worth.  If  it  were 
not  for  my  wife,  I  should  give  it  up.  She's 
desperately . fond  of  roses.' 

" '  That's  the  best  of  reasons  for  not  giving 
it  up,'  1  answered.  '  I  happen  to  be  a  great 
admirer  of  your  wife.' 

*'  *  That's  another  link  between  us,'  said 
he.  *  She's  the  best  wife  man  ever  had. 
She's  worthy  of  all  the  admiration  you  can 
give  her.' 

"  She's  worthy  of  all  the  roses  you  can  grow 
for  her,'  I  said. 

*' '  By  God,  she  is  ! ' "  he  answered  with  an 
emphasis  that  startled  me. 

"  We  grew  confidential,  and  a  story  followed. 
He  told  me  that  he  was  the  illegitimate  son  of 
a  baronet ;  that  his  father  had  made  him  an 
allowance  to  study  art  in  London  ;  that  he  had 
married  his  model,  in  opposition  to  the  wishes 
of  his  father  ;  that  the  baronet  had  thereupon 


/ 


WHITE   ROSES  857 

thrown  him  over  for  good  and  all ;  that  he 
had  failed  to  make  a  living  by  his  original  art ; 
that  he  had  got  an  engagement  with  a  great 
furnishing-house  as  a  skilled  painter ;  that  he 
was  earning  four  pounds  a  week  in  doing 
artistic  work  in  rich  men's  houses  and  else- 
where ;  that  he  was  now  engaged  in  restoring 
some  fifteenth-century  frescoes  in  a  parish 
church.  His  wife  earned  money  too,  though 
he  did  not  tell  me  how,  and  his  daughter  was 
being  trained  as  a  singer.  '  We're  all  more  or 
less  in  art,'  he  said,  '  and  we  are  a  very  happy 
family.' 

"  By  this  time  we  were  back  at  the  landing- 
place,  and  as  the  man  stepped  ashore  he  said : 
*  It's  about  time  I  took  these  roses  to  my  wife. 
We'll  just  walk  along  to  where  I  live,  and  I'll 
show  you  the  rest  of  the  sights  afterwards. 
I'll  take  you  to  the  Cathedral  when  the  after- 
noon service  is  over.' 

"  As  we  walked  through  the  streets  the  man 
kept  up  an  incessant  stream  of  talk,  pointing 
to  this  and  that,  and  discoursing  with  great 
eagerness  on  the  history  and  antiquities  of  the 


358  ALL   MEN   ARE   GHOSTS 

town.  It  struck  me  as  strange  that  he  never 
waited  for  any  answer  but  passed  from  one 
thing  to  another  without  a  pause.  Presently 
we  stopped  in  front  of  a  small  house,  one  of  a 
row  of  villas. 

"  *  This  is  where  I  live,'  he  said,  and  stopped 
on  the  doorstep. 

"  '  Good  I '  I  cried  ;  '  and  now  you  will  take 
me  in  and  reintroduce  me  to  your  charming 
wife.' 

"  *  I'm  sorry,'  he  answered,  *  but  the  thing's 
quite  impossible.' 

"  I  was  so  startled  by  this  unexpected 
answer  that,  without  thinking,  I  blurted  out 
the  question,  *  Why  ? ' 

" '  Because,'  he  said,  *  she's  in  her  coffin. 
She  died  at  four  o'clock  this  morning' 

"  At  the  words  he  sank  down  on  his  door- 
step, put  the  basket  of  roses  on  his  knees 
and  bowed  himself  over  them  in  a  passion 
of  tears. 

"  The  door  opened,  and  the  young  girl,  who 
had  been  with  me  in  the  train,  ran  down  the 
steps.     Sitting  down  beside  her  father  she  put 


WHITE   ROSES  859 

her  arms  round  his  neck  and  said,  '  Daddy, 
Daddy,  don't  cry  I '" 

The  Professor  ceased  and  there  was  a  long 
pause. 

"  Did  you  discover,"  said  the  Pessimist  at 
length,  "why  the  two  were  weeping  in  the 
train  ?  " 

"  No  need  to  ask  that,"  said  our  Hostess. 
"The  woman  had  received  sentence  of  death." 

"  Did  you  ever  follow  it  up  ? "  said  the 
Historian.  "  What,  for  example,  became  of 
the  young  girl  ? " 

^^  She  was  married  to  my  eldest  son  last 
month,''  said  the  Professor. 

"  I  knew  the  Pessimist's  introduction  would 
not  be  needed,"  said  our  Host. 

"  Nevertheless,  it  was  the  introduction  that 
reminded  me  of  the  story,"  said  the  Professor. 
"  And  now,"  he  continued,  "  can  anyone  here 
explain  to  me  the  strange  conduct  of  the  man 
with  the  white  roses  ?  For  I  confess  that  1 
can  find  no  place  for  it  in  any  system  of 
Psychology  known  to  me." 


360  ALL   MEN  ARE   GHOSl^ 

At  this  question  the  Son  of  the  House, 
who  for  some  reason  had  become  the  gravest 
member  of  the  party,  looked  up  and  seemed 
about  to  speak.  But  as  he  raised  his  eyes 
they  met  the  bright  glance  of  his  pretty 
cousin,  on  whose  cheek  there  was  a  tear. 
And  when  the  Son  of  the  House  saw  that,  the 
impulse  to  speech  died  within  him. 

No  one  else  ventured  an  explanation.  But 
my  impression  was  that  there  were  two  persons 
in  the  room  to  whom  the  strange  conduct  of 
the  man  with  the  white  roses  presented  no 
enigma. 


raiNTKD   BY  NRILL   AND  CO.,   LTD.,    BDINBURCH. 


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